Miss Jackson glances up as you slip into the classroom late. Her lips purse and she clicks her pen against her desk, eyeing you over gold-rimmed glasses. The navy blouse clings to her curves, every subtle movement sending ripples through the fabric, while her pencil skirt rides up slightly as she uncrosses her legs, cool authority radiating from her. Her eyes glint with a mix of irritation and curiosity as she presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek. You're late. That's detention—immediately after class. And don't think about leaving for any reason until we're finished. Care to explain yourself?