The cold had settled in early that morning, making the windows ache and turning breath into fog. Sophie walked across the school grounds, clutching the bundle of office keys in her pocket. She was on detention duty—or rather, still was—making her rounds to ensure the main building remained accessible, except for her wing with the detention room.
She exhaled slowly, watching the pale clouds of her breath trail upward in front of her freezing nose.
She entered the wing, the automatic lights springing to life one by one. The bright halogen glow formed a stark contrast to the darkness she had just left behind. As she made her way down the corridor, she unbuttoned her wool winter coat, already hearing murmurs drifting from the detention room.
She had left them unsupervised for no more than ten minutes—against school regulations—but she preferred that over making closing rounds completely alone in the dark.
She pushed open the door.
There was only a soft thunk above her head before the shock hit.
Cold water cascaded down her back, soaking her blouse and cardigan instantly. The shock stole the breath from her lungs. Icy water ran down her spine, drenched her trousers, and pooled inside her low ankle boots.
For a moment, the room was silent.
Then laughter exploded—sharp, uncontrolled, echoing off the walls.
Sophie pulled the bucket off her head. Her usual low, practical bun had come loose. Her warm brown hair, threaded with natural highlights, clung plastered to her scalp, darkened to nearly black. Her clothes stuck to her skin, losing what little warmth they had to begin with. Her fingers went numb.
“Enough.”
Her voice cut through the room—low, steady, unmistakably firm. The laughter faltered almost instantly.
“Sit down. All of you.”
She let her gaze move slowly across the classroom as she stepped fully inside, away from the draft of the hallway.
“Detention is finished for today,” she said at last. “But do not mistake that for forgiveness. This is not the end of this.”
Chairs scraped as students hurried back into place. A few tried to hide smiles, but no one laughed now. They packed their homework quickly, books crammed into backpacks as if speed alone might carry them away from the consequences of their prank.
When the final student closed the door behind him, Sophie finally exhaled.
She was shivering now, teeth clattering. The radiators had switched off automatically an hour earlier but still gave off a trace of warmth. She slipped out of her coat and placed it on a chair near the radiator, hoping they would dry at least a little.
She was completely soaked. The water made her clothes feel heavier with every passing second as the cold seeped deeper.
She needed dry clothes. Now.
“Miss Van Acker?”
Sophie turned fully, one hand resting on the edge of the desk. “Yes, Ines?”
Ines stood in the doorway, posture careful, as if unsure whether she was still allowed to be there. Behind her, Clara and Louise hovered a few steps back, half in the corridor, half inside the room. The three girls had been in detention for skipping school earlier in the week, rebellion that originated with Louise, her need to rebel against authority sweeping along her two friends.
In the doorway stood Inês Pereira, slight, with dark hair braided neatly. Her careful movements and soft, hesitant voice made her appear slightly awkward. Behind her, Clara Mouton leaned against the wall, composed, with long blonde hair and steady grey eyes. She looked on dryly, leaving Ines to take the word. A few steps behind, Louise Bernard stood taller, wavy chestnut hair brushing her shoulders, green eyes sparkling. She smirked, unable to hide that she was rather pleased with Sophie’s disheveled state.
“I just wanted to check if you were all right,” Ines said. “You look… really cold.”
Sophie drew her arms closer to herself, fingers curling into the damp fabric at her elbows. “I am,” she said, then corrected herself, “I will be.”
Louise shifted her weight. “The radiators are off already,” she said quietly, glancing toward the wall. “They probably won't turn back on until morning.”
Clara nodded. “It’s freezing outside.”
Sophie exhaled slowly. “Yes,” she said while walking to the girls. “It is. I know... I thought I’d at least try to dry my clothes a little bit but I’m completely soaked… I need something dry but I don’t have a change of clothes with me.”
There was a brief pause, filled only by the faint ticking of the cooling pipes.
“You know, there are some spare uniforms in the locker room,” Ines said finally. “In case of dress-code violations and the like.”
Sophie looked at her quizzically, weighing her proposal.
“I’m sure they have one in your size, Miss,” Inês said, hesitating just a fraction too long. “You’re… not much taller than us. I mean… they usually fit pretty small anyways.”
Clara glanced at Sophie’s cardigan, still darkened with water. “You shouldn’t stay in those Miss,” she said. “You’ll get sick.”
Ines’ clarification only made her discomfort worse. The implication she would fit into something meant for her students settled heavily in her chest. Sophie steadied herself. “All right,” she said at last. “That would be… sensible.” That last word tasted thin and meaningless in her mouth.
Ines nodded, relief flickering across her face. “The locker room is at the end of the corridor, our lockers are there as well,” she said. “We can go now, if you want.”
Sophie nodded. “Lead the way. I just need to get my coat and handbag.”. She moved to grab her things, when Clara stepped fully into the room, cutting gently but decisively across her path.
“I’ll get them,” Clara said. “You should go with Inês and change as soon as possible, Miss. You’re freezing.”
The words were practical. Sensible. And yet Sophie paused.
For a brief moment, instinct urged her to insist, to retrieve her own belongings. But another shiver ran through her, sharp and involuntary, and her fingers had already begun to lose their feeling. She nodded once. “Very well,” she said. “Thank you.”
Clara was already moving toward the chair, lifting the coat with careful hands. Ines turned and began down the corridor, and Sophie followed.
The hallway felt longer than before. The lights hummed softly overhead, casting pale reflections on the polished floor. Sophie’s wet shoes squeaked faintly with each step, an undignified sound she could not stop. She kept her gaze forward, her posture straight, even as the soaked fabric clung to her body.
Ines and Louise walked a half-step ahead of her, slowing slightly, as if aware of Sophie’s measured pace. Neither of them spoke. As they passed empty classrooms, Sophie became acutely aware of herself. The weight of her clothes, the stiffness of the damp fabric, the way her cardigan clung where it shouldn’t.
The locker room waited at the end of the corridor. Inês pushed its door open, and a wash of cold, stale air greeted them. The room was nearly empty, cold air lingering in the tiled space. Ines crossed the locker room quickly, the soles of her trainers whispering against the tiles. She stopped in front of her locker, spun the combination, and pulled the door open.
“Just a second,” she said, already reaching inside.
Sophie remained a few steps back, arms folded tightly across herself. The locker room smelled faintly of detergent and metal, the air cool and still. She focused on breathing evenly, looking forward to the heated seat and steering wheel of her car warming her up again.
Ines crouched slightly and rifled through the bottom of her locker, moving a folded gym shirt to the side. From underneath, she pulled out a neatly folded set of underwear. “Here,” she said, offering them to Sophie. “Clean, I promise. I keep an extra pair in my locker just in case. Better to have them and not need them than…” Ines’ voice trailed off, then picked upn with a new thought before trailing off once more. “You do seem to be my size so… it might fit.”
Sophie’s cheeks warmed instantly. She took it quickly, muttering a quiet “thank you.” Gratitude and awkwardness settled together in her chest. Behind her, she heard a snicker from Louise. Her gaze snapped behind her, making Louise avert her gaze. “Don’t hold them against your wet clothes though… They’ll become just as soaked.”
“And you’d better hurry up and change. The uniforms are in the office,” Louise said, leaning back slightly, her grin fading just enough. “You had the master key, didn’t you?”
Sophie nodded. “Yes, I do. And I better do. Get out of these wet clothes, I mean.”. She moved over to the door, sticking her hand inside her pants’ pocket and feeling for the bundle of keys she used to lock up just some minutes ago.
“Wait!”, Ines shouted, running up behind her, a sport towel in hand. “Take my towel to dry yourself off or it would be for nothing that you change.” There was genuine concern in Ines’ voice. Sophie accepted the towel, muttering “Thanks.” with a low voice.
Sophie unlocked the door to the office and disappeared inside. The office felt warm compared to the locker room. It was compact, an efficient mix of PE storage and administrative space. The walls painted a dull beige cream colour sweared with smudges from years of hurried hands brushing past. A single window looked out onto the chilly schoolyard, streaked with condensation that blurred Sophie’s view outside. A wooden desk occupied one corner, cluttered with folders and a half-empty water bottle. Behind it, a faux leather office chair stood, its armrests cracking. Metal shelves and cabinets stood at the opposite wall, some drawers labeled with PE schedules, spare equipment, and uniforms folded neatly in stacks.
She locked the door behind her to give herself enough privacy to dare undress herself. Her boots released a small stream of water that had found its way into them when poured and her socks were equally soaked.
She tossed her drenched clothes on a ball rack to keep them off the floor. Her nakedness made her shiver once more, this time less because of the cold and more because of her feelings of vulnerability. She dried herself off, feeling the sense of urgency recede. And with her mind shifting away from survival, she considered what brought her to this situation.
She vowed to herself to find out whom amongst the students decided it was appropriate to pull such an assault on her, who instigated the trapped bucket that led to her terrible predicament.
She dried her hair as best she could, blotting the damp strands until they no longer clung to her neck, then let the towel fall over the chair. Her gaze drifted to the neatly folded underwear resting on the desk.
Her own had been soaked through completely. The thought of putting on a school uniform already made her uneasy, especially knowing she would be showing herself in them to students she had been supervising only minutes earlier. But the alternative, pulling on the uniform without proper undergarments, made her stomach tighten even more.
She hesitated only a moment before reaching for the fabric. The underwear was unmistakably not hers: lighter, simpler. She pulled it on quickly, trying not to think about the absurdity of her predicament. The bra followed, slightly too small, the straps sitting tighter than she liked, but serviceable. Not comfortable or dignified but sufficient.
She moved over to the shelves of spare uniforms. Motivated to find herself dressed once more, she quickly rifled through the piles in search of her size or something approximating it. As she had expected, she found hers under the large section. While she was by no means fat, compared to her students, most of which are teenagers, she would naturally be on the bigger side. The white blouse she picked up felt crisp and clean, smelling faintly of detergent and musky from storage. The fabric felt cool on her skin for a moment. Despite its stiffness, it did not strike her as rough though it was not soft either. As she buttoned the shirt up with her cold hands, she noticed just how impersonal this shirt felt, devoid of any tailoring or fit.
As she fixes the last of her buttons, she hears a knocking on the door, disrupting her flow of thought. “Are you ok in there Miss Van Acker?”, Clara’s voice called, “I’ve brought your handbag and coat. I think we’d best put it in some bag so it doesn’t keep leaking water.”
“I’m fine, thanks. Just putting on dry clothes…” Sophie called back with a crack in her voice. Being addressed in this undignified state and being spoken to like she was the child in need of advice stung.
“Are there even things in your size, Miss?”, Louise asked, emphasising the honorific with thinly veiled sarcasm, “I don’t think the school had adult sizes in mind stocking up.”
“They’re here alright.”, Sophie answered instinctively while looking through the pile of skirts, looking for one of the longer models more fit for winter. She heard Louise make some remark muffled by the door standing in between them, unable to understand the words. The subsequent threefold laughter clarified their meaning however.
“Merde,” Sophie mumbled, finding all skirts to be the same regulation length. Picking one out, she steps into it carefully, tugging it into place. It sits higher and shorter than she would like, just centimeters above her knees. She adjusts it instinctively, trying to make it feel more appropriate. No matter, the skirt feels short no matter how she tugs and pulls on it. With the realisation of how bare her legs would be, Sophie relents and opens a box placed at the side of the shelf containing tights. She grabbed a handful of packages and inspected their sizes. Sizes 2 and 3. Sophie would have to hope they’d stretch enough for her to wear without ripping. She kept two packs of the larger size and opened them up. Even after one touch, she could feel their quality was minimal. The material felt thin and cold in her hands, delicate but uniform. She removed her skirt again. Leaning against the desk for support, she rolled them down slowly, sliding her feet into the opening, then carefully tugging them over her calves, thighs, adjusting the waistband with caution. The fabric felt smooth and cold but warmed up against her skin gradually. It offered modest coverage, but the thin material did little to push back the lingering chill.
A second pair came next. She hesitated, concerned if layering would seem odd for some reason, but the memory of the icy weight of her clothes urged her on. Sliding the second pair up her legs was slightly more awkward, the first pair bunching a little where the two met. The combined warmth was noticeable now but the thin material still felt insufficient.
For a moment, Sophie paused, tugging at the second pair, realizing that the layers were both thin and barely substantial enough to feel comfortable under such a short and breezy skirt. She hesitated, then reached for a third pair. Sliding them on felt even stranger this time but the warmth it brought was immediate and welcome.
“Miss? Can you hurry up a little? We want to go home”, Louise shouted annoyedly.
“Just a moment! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”, she pleaded, overwhelmed by her awkward predicament. The words slipped out before she could stop them. What was she saying sorry for? It was Louise and her friends who got her into this situation in the first place. Or at least she was covering for whoever placed the bucket. The skirts of the tights hugged her waist differently, requiring subtle adjustments to keep everything smooth. Her legs were finally insulated against the chill, and though movement felt slightly restricted and awkward, she let herself exhale. It was functional and that was enough.
She pulled the skirt back up to her waist, still feeling as embarrassingly short as it did before but less breezy with the tights she wore now. She shifted her weight, her toes instinctively curling against the cold tiles. She moved back over to the rack containing spare uniforms and bent over to reach the lower shelf where generic black loafers lay. She quickly picked out a pair that was listed as her size.
Despite fitting, the loafers felt slightly clunky, heavier than she was used to, the soles hard and unyielding as she slid her feet into them. The cold feeling permeating her soles retreated partially. It lingered quietly in her toes, dull and insistent. She felt the tights bunch up slightly behind her knees and a certain stiffness in her legs became more pronounced, unrelated but worsened by the chill she had experienced already. She straightened her posture, testing her balance as these shoes made her feel ever so slightly off center.
The uniform skirt brushed against her layered tights as she reached for the cardigan. She felt the tights’ waistband dig deeper into her abdomen, feeling subtly constricting. She pulled the light cream cardigan over her head and slipped her arms into the sleeves, the fabric settling awkwardly around her shoulders. Nonetheless, she felt grateful for the soft and warm feeling it gave her. She looked down on herself. The clothes felt wrong: boxy and shapeless. The cardigan cut straight across her figure instead of following it, the skirt settling too high with its stiff and unforgiving lines. She tugged at the hem of the cardigan, then let her hands fall. She was already on her way when she heard knocking on the door again.
“Miss Van Acker? We’re still here.”. It was Clara’s voice, calm but insistent. Sophie took a shallow breath, fighting the urge to apologise again. She felt awkward, but she could not let them see how flustered she still felt.
“I’m coming.” she said, her voice steadier than she had expected. Her stomach twisted lightly at the sensation of the waistbands pressing against her abdomen. Nerves had been accumulating ever since she had agreed, implicitly, to conform to the school’s dress code. She took a breath and reached for the key
---TO BE CONTINUED---
She exhaled slowly, watching the pale clouds of her breath trail upward in front of her freezing nose.
She entered the wing, the automatic lights springing to life one by one. The bright halogen glow formed a stark contrast to the darkness she had just left behind. As she made her way down the corridor, she unbuttoned her wool winter coat, already hearing murmurs drifting from the detention room.
She had left them unsupervised for no more than ten minutes—against school regulations—but she preferred that over making closing rounds completely alone in the dark.
She pushed open the door.
There was only a soft thunk above her head before the shock hit.
Cold water cascaded down her back, soaking her blouse and cardigan instantly. The shock stole the breath from her lungs. Icy water ran down her spine, drenched her trousers, and pooled inside her low ankle boots.
For a moment, the room was silent.
Then laughter exploded—sharp, uncontrolled, echoing off the walls.
Sophie pulled the bucket off her head. Her usual low, practical bun had come loose. Her warm brown hair, threaded with natural highlights, clung plastered to her scalp, darkened to nearly black. Her clothes stuck to her skin, losing what little warmth they had to begin with. Her fingers went numb.
“Enough.”
Her voice cut through the room—low, steady, unmistakably firm. The laughter faltered almost instantly.
“Sit down. All of you.”
She let her gaze move slowly across the classroom as she stepped fully inside, away from the draft of the hallway.
“Detention is finished for today,” she said at last. “But do not mistake that for forgiveness. This is not the end of this.”
Chairs scraped as students hurried back into place. A few tried to hide smiles, but no one laughed now. They packed their homework quickly, books crammed into backpacks as if speed alone might carry them away from the consequences of their prank.
When the final student closed the door behind him, Sophie finally exhaled.
She was shivering now, teeth clattering. The radiators had switched off automatically an hour earlier but still gave off a trace of warmth. She slipped out of her coat and placed it on a chair near the radiator, hoping they would dry at least a little.
She was completely soaked. The water made her clothes feel heavier with every passing second as the cold seeped deeper.
She needed dry clothes. Now.
“Miss Van Acker?”
Sophie turned fully, one hand resting on the edge of the desk. “Yes, Ines?”
Ines stood in the doorway, posture careful, as if unsure whether she was still allowed to be there. Behind her, Clara and Louise hovered a few steps back, half in the corridor, half inside the room. The three girls had been in detention for skipping school earlier in the week, rebellion that originated with Louise, her need to rebel against authority sweeping along her two friends.
In the doorway stood Inês Pereira, slight, with dark hair braided neatly. Her careful movements and soft, hesitant voice made her appear slightly awkward. Behind her, Clara Mouton leaned against the wall, composed, with long blonde hair and steady grey eyes. She looked on dryly, leaving Ines to take the word. A few steps behind, Louise Bernard stood taller, wavy chestnut hair brushing her shoulders, green eyes sparkling. She smirked, unable to hide that she was rather pleased with Sophie’s disheveled state.
“I just wanted to check if you were all right,” Ines said. “You look… really cold.”
Sophie drew her arms closer to herself, fingers curling into the damp fabric at her elbows. “I am,” she said, then corrected herself, “I will be.”
Louise shifted her weight. “The radiators are off already,” she said quietly, glancing toward the wall. “They probably won't turn back on until morning.”
Clara nodded. “It’s freezing outside.”
Sophie exhaled slowly. “Yes,” she said while walking to the girls. “It is. I know... I thought I’d at least try to dry my clothes a little bit but I’m completely soaked… I need something dry but I don’t have a change of clothes with me.”
There was a brief pause, filled only by the faint ticking of the cooling pipes.
“You know, there are some spare uniforms in the locker room,” Ines said finally. “In case of dress-code violations and the like.”
Sophie looked at her quizzically, weighing her proposal.
“I’m sure they have one in your size, Miss,” Inês said, hesitating just a fraction too long. “You’re… not much taller than us. I mean… they usually fit pretty small anyways.”
Clara glanced at Sophie’s cardigan, still darkened with water. “You shouldn’t stay in those Miss,” she said. “You’ll get sick.”
Ines’ clarification only made her discomfort worse. The implication she would fit into something meant for her students settled heavily in her chest. Sophie steadied herself. “All right,” she said at last. “That would be… sensible.” That last word tasted thin and meaningless in her mouth.
Ines nodded, relief flickering across her face. “The locker room is at the end of the corridor, our lockers are there as well,” she said. “We can go now, if you want.”
Sophie nodded. “Lead the way. I just need to get my coat and handbag.”. She moved to grab her things, when Clara stepped fully into the room, cutting gently but decisively across her path.
“I’ll get them,” Clara said. “You should go with Inês and change as soon as possible, Miss. You’re freezing.”
The words were practical. Sensible. And yet Sophie paused.
For a brief moment, instinct urged her to insist, to retrieve her own belongings. But another shiver ran through her, sharp and involuntary, and her fingers had already begun to lose their feeling. She nodded once. “Very well,” she said. “Thank you.”
Clara was already moving toward the chair, lifting the coat with careful hands. Ines turned and began down the corridor, and Sophie followed.
The hallway felt longer than before. The lights hummed softly overhead, casting pale reflections on the polished floor. Sophie’s wet shoes squeaked faintly with each step, an undignified sound she could not stop. She kept her gaze forward, her posture straight, even as the soaked fabric clung to her body.
Ines and Louise walked a half-step ahead of her, slowing slightly, as if aware of Sophie’s measured pace. Neither of them spoke. As they passed empty classrooms, Sophie became acutely aware of herself. The weight of her clothes, the stiffness of the damp fabric, the way her cardigan clung where it shouldn’t.
The locker room waited at the end of the corridor. Inês pushed its door open, and a wash of cold, stale air greeted them. The room was nearly empty, cold air lingering in the tiled space. Ines crossed the locker room quickly, the soles of her trainers whispering against the tiles. She stopped in front of her locker, spun the combination, and pulled the door open.
“Just a second,” she said, already reaching inside.
Sophie remained a few steps back, arms folded tightly across herself. The locker room smelled faintly of detergent and metal, the air cool and still. She focused on breathing evenly, looking forward to the heated seat and steering wheel of her car warming her up again.
Ines crouched slightly and rifled through the bottom of her locker, moving a folded gym shirt to the side. From underneath, she pulled out a neatly folded set of underwear. “Here,” she said, offering them to Sophie. “Clean, I promise. I keep an extra pair in my locker just in case. Better to have them and not need them than…” Ines’ voice trailed off, then picked upn with a new thought before trailing off once more. “You do seem to be my size so… it might fit.”
Sophie’s cheeks warmed instantly. She took it quickly, muttering a quiet “thank you.” Gratitude and awkwardness settled together in her chest. Behind her, she heard a snicker from Louise. Her gaze snapped behind her, making Louise avert her gaze. “Don’t hold them against your wet clothes though… They’ll become just as soaked.”
“And you’d better hurry up and change. The uniforms are in the office,” Louise said, leaning back slightly, her grin fading just enough. “You had the master key, didn’t you?”
Sophie nodded. “Yes, I do. And I better do. Get out of these wet clothes, I mean.”. She moved over to the door, sticking her hand inside her pants’ pocket and feeling for the bundle of keys she used to lock up just some minutes ago.
“Wait!”, Ines shouted, running up behind her, a sport towel in hand. “Take my towel to dry yourself off or it would be for nothing that you change.” There was genuine concern in Ines’ voice. Sophie accepted the towel, muttering “Thanks.” with a low voice.
Sophie unlocked the door to the office and disappeared inside. The office felt warm compared to the locker room. It was compact, an efficient mix of PE storage and administrative space. The walls painted a dull beige cream colour sweared with smudges from years of hurried hands brushing past. A single window looked out onto the chilly schoolyard, streaked with condensation that blurred Sophie’s view outside. A wooden desk occupied one corner, cluttered with folders and a half-empty water bottle. Behind it, a faux leather office chair stood, its armrests cracking. Metal shelves and cabinets stood at the opposite wall, some drawers labeled with PE schedules, spare equipment, and uniforms folded neatly in stacks.
She locked the door behind her to give herself enough privacy to dare undress herself. Her boots released a small stream of water that had found its way into them when poured and her socks were equally soaked.
She tossed her drenched clothes on a ball rack to keep them off the floor. Her nakedness made her shiver once more, this time less because of the cold and more because of her feelings of vulnerability. She dried herself off, feeling the sense of urgency recede. And with her mind shifting away from survival, she considered what brought her to this situation.
She vowed to herself to find out whom amongst the students decided it was appropriate to pull such an assault on her, who instigated the trapped bucket that led to her terrible predicament.
She dried her hair as best she could, blotting the damp strands until they no longer clung to her neck, then let the towel fall over the chair. Her gaze drifted to the neatly folded underwear resting on the desk.
Her own had been soaked through completely. The thought of putting on a school uniform already made her uneasy, especially knowing she would be showing herself in them to students she had been supervising only minutes earlier. But the alternative, pulling on the uniform without proper undergarments, made her stomach tighten even more.
She hesitated only a moment before reaching for the fabric. The underwear was unmistakably not hers: lighter, simpler. She pulled it on quickly, trying not to think about the absurdity of her predicament. The bra followed, slightly too small, the straps sitting tighter than she liked, but serviceable. Not comfortable or dignified but sufficient.
She moved over to the shelves of spare uniforms. Motivated to find herself dressed once more, she quickly rifled through the piles in search of her size or something approximating it. As she had expected, she found hers under the large section. While she was by no means fat, compared to her students, most of which are teenagers, she would naturally be on the bigger side. The white blouse she picked up felt crisp and clean, smelling faintly of detergent and musky from storage. The fabric felt cool on her skin for a moment. Despite its stiffness, it did not strike her as rough though it was not soft either. As she buttoned the shirt up with her cold hands, she noticed just how impersonal this shirt felt, devoid of any tailoring or fit.
As she fixes the last of her buttons, she hears a knocking on the door, disrupting her flow of thought. “Are you ok in there Miss Van Acker?”, Clara’s voice called, “I’ve brought your handbag and coat. I think we’d best put it in some bag so it doesn’t keep leaking water.”
“I’m fine, thanks. Just putting on dry clothes…” Sophie called back with a crack in her voice. Being addressed in this undignified state and being spoken to like she was the child in need of advice stung.
“Are there even things in your size, Miss?”, Louise asked, emphasising the honorific with thinly veiled sarcasm, “I don’t think the school had adult sizes in mind stocking up.”
“They’re here alright.”, Sophie answered instinctively while looking through the pile of skirts, looking for one of the longer models more fit for winter. She heard Louise make some remark muffled by the door standing in between them, unable to understand the words. The subsequent threefold laughter clarified their meaning however.
“Merde,” Sophie mumbled, finding all skirts to be the same regulation length. Picking one out, she steps into it carefully, tugging it into place. It sits higher and shorter than she would like, just centimeters above her knees. She adjusts it instinctively, trying to make it feel more appropriate. No matter, the skirt feels short no matter how she tugs and pulls on it. With the realisation of how bare her legs would be, Sophie relents and opens a box placed at the side of the shelf containing tights. She grabbed a handful of packages and inspected their sizes. Sizes 2 and 3. Sophie would have to hope they’d stretch enough for her to wear without ripping. She kept two packs of the larger size and opened them up. Even after one touch, she could feel their quality was minimal. The material felt thin and cold in her hands, delicate but uniform. She removed her skirt again. Leaning against the desk for support, she rolled them down slowly, sliding her feet into the opening, then carefully tugging them over her calves, thighs, adjusting the waistband with caution. The fabric felt smooth and cold but warmed up against her skin gradually. It offered modest coverage, but the thin material did little to push back the lingering chill.
A second pair came next. She hesitated, concerned if layering would seem odd for some reason, but the memory of the icy weight of her clothes urged her on. Sliding the second pair up her legs was slightly more awkward, the first pair bunching a little where the two met. The combined warmth was noticeable now but the thin material still felt insufficient.
For a moment, Sophie paused, tugging at the second pair, realizing that the layers were both thin and barely substantial enough to feel comfortable under such a short and breezy skirt. She hesitated, then reached for a third pair. Sliding them on felt even stranger this time but the warmth it brought was immediate and welcome.
“Miss? Can you hurry up a little? We want to go home”, Louise shouted annoyedly.
“Just a moment! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”, she pleaded, overwhelmed by her awkward predicament. The words slipped out before she could stop them. What was she saying sorry for? It was Louise and her friends who got her into this situation in the first place. Or at least she was covering for whoever placed the bucket. The skirts of the tights hugged her waist differently, requiring subtle adjustments to keep everything smooth. Her legs were finally insulated against the chill, and though movement felt slightly restricted and awkward, she let herself exhale. It was functional and that was enough.
She pulled the skirt back up to her waist, still feeling as embarrassingly short as it did before but less breezy with the tights she wore now. She shifted her weight, her toes instinctively curling against the cold tiles. She moved back over to the rack containing spare uniforms and bent over to reach the lower shelf where generic black loafers lay. She quickly picked out a pair that was listed as her size.
Despite fitting, the loafers felt slightly clunky, heavier than she was used to, the soles hard and unyielding as she slid her feet into them. The cold feeling permeating her soles retreated partially. It lingered quietly in her toes, dull and insistent. She felt the tights bunch up slightly behind her knees and a certain stiffness in her legs became more pronounced, unrelated but worsened by the chill she had experienced already. She straightened her posture, testing her balance as these shoes made her feel ever so slightly off center.
The uniform skirt brushed against her layered tights as she reached for the cardigan. She felt the tights’ waistband dig deeper into her abdomen, feeling subtly constricting. She pulled the light cream cardigan over her head and slipped her arms into the sleeves, the fabric settling awkwardly around her shoulders. Nonetheless, she felt grateful for the soft and warm feeling it gave her. She looked down on herself. The clothes felt wrong: boxy and shapeless. The cardigan cut straight across her figure instead of following it, the skirt settling too high with its stiff and unforgiving lines. She tugged at the hem of the cardigan, then let her hands fall. She was already on her way when she heard knocking on the door again.
“Miss Van Acker? We’re still here.”. It was Clara’s voice, calm but insistent. Sophie took a shallow breath, fighting the urge to apologise again. She felt awkward, but she could not let them see how flustered she still felt.
“I’m coming.” she said, her voice steadier than she had expected. Her stomach twisted lightly at the sensation of the waistbands pressing against her abdomen. Nerves had been accumulating ever since she had agreed, implicitly, to conform to the school’s dress code. She took a breath and reached for the key
---TO BE CONTINUED---
