Note: Warning for explicit sexual language, mentions of pedophilia, homophobia, and misogyny.

Westchester, New York
Octavian Country Day
Tuesday, September 3
8:02 AM

"Iris Marvil-Hastings."

"Are you so sure about that second part?"

"Are you asking if I'm sure about my name?"

Her silky black hair spilled over her desk, where she had tossed it behind her. Her long legs were barely contained by the white skater skirt she had adorned, and her plush lips were pursed. Her skin was bronzed with an ethereal summer glow, and her nails rapped on the tabletop in impatience. Upon seeing her, your first impression might be 'beauty' or 'goddess' or maybe even 'art personified' to some.

Your second impression, however, would be 'pissed off.'

For, that's what she was. Iris Marvil-Hastings was pissed off. Maybe it had something to do with it being the first day back at school and her alarm mysteriously not working throughout the night. Or maybe it was that the dress she was planning on wearing had been mistakenly taken to the dry cleaners the day before by a housekeeper. Or maybe it was even that she hadn't had time to shower that morning and was convinced she reeked of the cream cheese bagel she had eaten for breakfast.

Whatever the reason, she was pissed off. Maybe that wasn't even the appropriate word. 'Enraged' or 'humiliated' might have sufficed as well; as she glared down her World Literature 2 teacher hard enough to melt polar ice caps. Perched on the edge of her seat, and monolids squinted, as though ready for a fight, Iris clenched her jaw and held her ground as she spoke (spat, sneered) at her teacher.

The man in question was an average middle aged man with a crooked nose and wrinkles deeper than the Marianas Trench. He was average in the way that there wasn't a single remarkable thing about the man. His name was Isaac Latimer. He was 5'11, had grey hair peppered with brown, and a beat red face. He attended a college two hours from hometown during his youth, met a similarly average girl, and proposed on their first anniversary. He became a teacher, with a plan on relying on a steady and ample paycheck to support his growing family; a plan which did not pan out. He and his wife grew apart, and now he was lucky to get off twice a month. So instead, he took his sexual frustrations out on young teenage girls whose shoulders apparently prevented him from doing any teaching.

The best part of his week was when he got to send a student to the principal's office for skirt that was 'too short.'

Maybe that was what angered Iris so. When she had walked into the classroom, she could feel her new teacher's eyes on her; or more specifically, her legs. Shying away from the stare of her far-too-old teacher, she had sat herself in the back, away from prying eyes, and hidden by her fellow classmates. That is, until Mr. Latimer had called her to the front of the class.

"Miss... ?" Mr. Latimer had just finished his presentation. It was the first period of the day, and it was obligatory for all teachers to explain the school rules and academic expectations and smile just a little too brightly as they exclaimed what a great year it was going to be.

Iris had jolted slightly in her seat when she realized her teacher was looking directly at her. Pointing a finger to her chest and mouthing 'me?' and waiting for a nod of confirmation, she had followed his wagging fingers up to the front of the room. She glanced nervously around her and the twenty eyes that were suddenly trained on her moving form. It wasn't that she was intimidated by an audience; far from it actually. But after the events of the year before, Iris wasn't sure she was quite ready to face any possible additional scrutiny from her peers. Steeling herself, she feigned confidence as she walked to the front of the room, her chunky heels clicking resolutely on the floor.

Coming to stand beside Mr. Latimer, she flashed a friendly albeit confused smile, before folding her hands behind her back and facing the room.

"Thank you Ms...?"

"Marvil-Hastings," Iris had responded promptly.

"Thank you. So," Mr. Latimer clapped his hands together at this, "does anyone know why I've called Iris up here today?"

The educator was met with silence, broken only by a few befuddled mumbles or shaking of heads.

"No?" he raised his eyebrows. "Try thinking about what we just talked about."

Several students turned to their classmates, whispering behind encased palms, whilst others continued staring blankly. One girl who looked like she ought to be in middle school even pulled out the notes she had been taking in class and starting going over them in detail.

"No one?" he paused for a few more moments, allowing his eyes to roam lecherously over her body. Iris felt a shiver run down her spine as he deliberately paused to stare at her thighs, and he spoke, "Does anyone recall the school dress code we just went over? Our school's policy is very clear about what girls are and aren't allowed to wear, and this," Mr. Latimer paused to toss his hand out and flick at the bottom of her skirt, "is clearly inappropriate. It's too short and could distract some of our male students... isn't that right boys?"

Iris felt her jaw drop and cheeks burn in humiliation as a chorus of boys in her class let out cat calls and jeers. She clenched her fists by her side, and set her jaw as she glared at her classmates who were making embarrassingly lewd gestures.

"Quite frankly, I could send Miss Marvel home today because of our administration's rules. But I personally do not believe that she should, I think she should be given a second chance, don't you?" he smiled seedily, and had clapped Iris on the back. She felt her blush spread to her chest and arms, and fought hard not to visibly flinch as Mr. Latimer not-so-subtly massaged her shoulder through her sweater, and instead had taken a shaky step back.

Mr. Latimer's eyes burned a hole in the side of her head, "In fact, it wouldn't be surprising if I found it hard for myself to concentrate on teaching my students with that... indecent outfit."

Iris whipped her head to side, glowering at her teacher. Mr. Latimer met her scowl steadily, a self-satisfied smirk on his face from Iris's humiliation. Her classmates were chattering excitedly, their mouths hidden behind hands as they gossiped amongst themselves. Sly looks and judgmental scoffs were thrown in her direction, and Iris suddenly found herself remember the events of the year before. Standing, surrounded, in the hall. Laughter pushing against her skin. Searching amongst peers who previously admired her for refuge, but only seeing disgust, fear, and even sick fascination. Meeting cold blue eyes and seeing nothing but ice where there used to be kinship and love.

Her nose burned in that tell tale way, and she was horrified to discover hot tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She needed to abort now.

"Maybe," she asserted over the jaunty conversations of her classmates, "the indecent one here is the man looking at the legs of a minor who's forty years his senior."

"Excuse me?"

A low murmur of assent and humor at Iris's words reverberated around the room. Suddenly the entire atmosphere had changed an air of suspense had taken hold. Latimer himself gawked at the girl, anger pressing on his furrowed brow. He had drawn himself up, standing upright and almost leaning over Iris, as though to intimidate or threaten her.

But Iris had not been alarmed. She jutted out her chin, and crossed her arms. Her tears had subsided, and the shame of the moment had faded. She could do this.

"I'm pretty sure an old man being attracted to a teenager is pedophilia. Just saying."

Iris had smirked at the way his eyes bulged out of his head.

"That is enough. Detention for the rest of the week," Iris gaped and spluttered in protest, but Latimer continued speaking over her. "I will not be disrespected as such in my own classroom. Not to mention, with such distasteful behavior coming from a young lady such as yourself. Go back to your seat."

Iris paused for a long moment, staring at the old man straight in the eyes. Disgust burned deep in her gut, her anger telling her to yell, scream until her point was made. Until she was respected. But that would result in suspension, possibly even expulsion. It was a bad idea, however tempting.

But Principal Burns made it clear that she was on 'thin ice.'

Iris swallowed, nodded once, and walked carefully back to her desk. She could feel the pressure of twenty-one of her classmate's eyes pressing in on her from all sides, and she made sure to hold her head high, and click her heels sharply on the floor.

Once she sat down, Latimer had continued, "Ignoring, Miss Marvel's outburst, let's continue. I do believe attendance is next on the agenda..."

Lunch time. The two most horrifying words in the English language.

Or at least second, next to 'paper due.' But the point still stood.

Iris hovered outside the thick steel doors that led to the cafeteria. The day hadn't improved much since homeroom. Her classes were dull and mindless. She had been given a stack of papers throughout the day, and already had three homework assignments that were due my the end of the week. The one small ray of hope she had had in her cardio circuit class was quickly squashed upon arriving to the locker room. Girls ran away as soon as though she was a creature of the night. They wouldn't even look at her, as though they might catch her lesbian cooties with eye contact.

As though that wasn't bad enough, there was the matter of her mother. Iris's phone buzzed in her purse as a reminder, and she let out a low groan. Apparently Latimer was quick about calling her, because her phone had been blowing up ever since second period.

Slipping out her phone, Iris clicked on the screen and bit her lip at the picture of her mother.

The older woman was in the middle of shoveling popcorn into her mouth. Iris remembered that night; it was the day after the incident of the year before, and her mom had promised that she could stay home and have a horror movie marathon. They were in the middle of The Shining, Iris remembered, when she had looked over at her mother and was struck by her beauty. She didn't have any makeup on or a hoard of hair stylists like usual. Instead her freckles stood starkly against her skin as they watched the characters get axed (literally), and her frizzy red hair was pulled haphazardly into an unraveling braid. She looked like a mom. Something Iris had never thought before.

In that moment, Iris was so incredibly grateful for her mother, she had vowed never to disappoint her again.

Yet, here they were.

Hesitantly, Iris swept her thumb across the screen, accepting the call.

"Hello?"

"Iris?" She could already hear the agitation in her voice.

"Hi, mom."

"Iris, what is this I hear about detention?"

A knot formed in the pit of her stomach, dragging her down with dread, "Um, I don't know. What did you hear about it?"

"Iris," okay, clearly not the time to play dumb. "I got a call from your teacher this morning saying not only did you break school policy, but that you disrespected your teacher in front of your class. Care to explain?"

"It's not what you think, mom," Iris quickly said.

"Okay... How is it 'not what I think'?"

"I was-I was hardly even breaking the rules-he called me out in class and said my skirt was too short. Which!" Iris spoke hurriedly over her mother, who had begun speaking. "Which, it probably was. But we both know that's a stupid rule anyways. Am I supposed to come to school dressed in a potato sack? I mean, I am a human being, and as such I have legs! If some boy is actually surprised by that to the point that he can't concentrate, then he needs to take an anatomy class!"

There was a pause. Iris knew she was right. Iris knew that her mom knew that she was right. She had actually done segments about it before on her show, The Daily Grind. Doing interviews with girls who had been suspended due to dress code violations, publicly shamed by their school board, and other extreme examples. As Dylan argued, clothes are supposed to be an expression of yourself that should be encouraged, not shamed.

After a long moment with still no reply, Iris continued, "Plus the teacher was giving me a creepy vibe. He kept on looking at me and talking about 'getting distracted' from teaching."

"He said what?"

Iris's eyes widened and she suddenly realized she had said the wrong thing, and immediately tried to back peddle, "No, I mean, he didn't-"

"No one should be talking about a child like that! Who the hell does he think he is?"

"No, Mom-look-"

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'll take care of it. Talk to you later."

"Mom, wait-" a clicking sound rung in her ear, signaling the end of the phone call.

Iris stared at the blank screen for a moment in defeat, thoughts racing. She loved her mom, of course. She was different from most Westchester moms, always present in her children's lives and making an active effort to parent. She loved her children with all her heart. Unfortunately, that also meant that she ocassionally went on crusades defending her children's honor. Which was much appreciated-sometimes. Other times, not so much.

Sighing, she stuffed her phone back into her shoulder and looked up.

Oh yeah-her other problem: lunch.

Iris rolled her shoulder, steeling herself. Lunch was her favorite time of day last year, simply because of the break between classes. Sometimes, if she wasn't hungry or didn't feel like dealing with any drama, she would go out to the soccer field. But soccer tryouts weren't until next week. Meaning she actually had to do this. Holding her head high, she pushed open the doors.

OCD was a modern school. The exterior was sleek, refined, and composed almost entirely of windows. Classrooms were stocked with updated technology, and the library contained priceless pieces of literature. It cost $40,000 per year to attend, and parents made sure it was well worth it. The cafeteria matched the aesthetic of the rest of the school-high, vaulted ceilings with tall windows allowed natural light to shine on the polished marble floors. Booths and lounging areas were scattered across the room, allowing a more comfortable seating area. Two rows of students lined up, dividing themselves between the salad bar and school lunch, where that day's menu was written behind the black granite counters on a chalkboard. In the far corner of the room was a touch of color, where a copper spiral staircase wound its way up to a more secluded and elite seating area that overlooked the rest of the cafeteria.

As Iris made her way across the floor, she felt the touch of eyes on her for the millionth time that day. Her fellow classmates weren't subtle about their staring or gossiping, and she was able to make out bits and pieces of conversations.

"Did you hear?"

"...she's a lesbo."

"She was checking me out in the locker room."

"Yeah, Iris..."

"Avery's ex-beta?"

Iris felt a blush rise on her cheeks, and prayed that her summer tan would make it near impossible to make out. She could do this. Her mother had wanted her to transfer schools, but she had insisted at staying at OCD. She wasn't about to be intimidated out of the school she had attended for the past five years; she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of knowing that they were the ones who drove her out.

Thankfully, by the time she had made her way over to the salad bar, the stares lessened just enough that she felt she could breathe. She piled her plate with vegetables absentmindedly, musing how she used to mock her friends for only eating salad, calling it 'rabbit food', and how she had always eaten whatever meaty sandwich or heavy pasta they offered that day. Now it seems she had lost her appetite. Handing over money to the chef in charge of manning the cash register, Iris headed towards the copper staircase, watching a senior football player and his girlfriend skip up the steps. Mesmerized by the way her brown hair swung in an angular bob, and her plush lips stretched in a happy smile.

Shit. Iris was staring.

And she was walking the wrong way. She wasn't 'allowed' in the balcony anymore. That was reserved for the best and brightest of the OCD student population; the A-listers who wore designer brands and spent their summers tanning in the Hamptons. Technically, those things still applied to Iris. She knew she was still hot, still rich, and still had expensive taste. But she had been exiled and marked, and now even the mathletes would sit with her.

"Hey, Iris!"

Or maybe not.

Iris spun around for her eyes to meet the form of sophomore Carter Solomon. Blond hair, blue eyes, and notorious for his lady-killer smile. Normally, she wouldn't fraternize with underclassmen when she was finally a junior herself, but since her new social status a leper (and the fact that being friendly with one of her ex-friend's exes might piss off said ex-friend) she wasn't in the position to turn down gestures of goodwill. Or pity.

"Uh, hi," she smiled hesitantly as she walked over.

Carter Solomon was on the JV boys' soccer team last year, meaning he had status over most other freshman boys and that he hung out religiously with his team. She recognized several familiar faces from with the year before and nodded her hello.

"So," Carter spoke again, "how was your summer?"

"Um," Iris was slightly thrown. While she and Carter had an good-natured acquaintanceship, they didn't talk much. And when they did talk, it was only after practices or matches and was limited to conversation about soccer. Friendly, but identical. They never asked about each other's personal lives. "It was fine."

"You'd go anywhere?" Carter patted the seat next to him.

Iris eyed him hesitantly. He was smiling kindly, and she realized that maybe he was just being nice. Maybe not everyone was out to get her. Maybe he was just doing a favor for someone he viewed as a friend. Maybe he was a good guy under his asshole-ish demeanor. Which meant she should probably get with the program, stop acting so strange, and actually talk.

"Actually, yeah, I went to Monaco for a couple of weeks, and then visited some family in Los Angeles," she smiled brightly at Carter. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know, Ibiza, Hamptons, the usual stops."

"Cool... what'd you do there?" God, had she always been this bad at small talk?

"Partied, met some insane girls-hey," he flicked his hand out as the boy opposite him, a brunette with a freckly face and squash-like nose, "where did we see that one chick, the blonde with fantastic tits that downed five shots of Jaeger to pre-game?"

The freckly boy hummed in thought, "That was that one club in Ibiza, remember? We had to sneak in the back, and she almost got us kicked out when she started fighting some girl at the bar."

"Oh yeah! Then we had to book it from the bouncers because she gave me a BJ in the bathroom," he cackled and the boys around him guffawed.

"Shit, that's why they were chasing us?" The freckly boy looked on in awe at Carter. Iris recognized that look; Carter was clearly the alpha of his group.

Carter nodded, "Yeah, she was the owner's daughter or some shit."

"I call bull," said a red head with virtually no eyebrows and a cleft chin to Carter's left. "If she was the owner's daughter, why'd you have sneak in like a couple of poor people?"

"Because, he was afraid she was gonna be a slut. Which she was," Carter grinned maliciously, and Iris suddenly found herself swallowing her own bile.

Her appetite having disappeared, Iris pushed her lunch tray away, "You know, I have to go and-"

"What about you, Iris?" Carter cut over her words.

Iris paused, "What about me?"

"Meet any interesting people in Monaco? Any girls?"

Iris's furrowed brow smoothed over. So that's why he had called her over. She should've known.

"What are you actually asking me?"

Carter was silent for a moment, analyzing her reaction, before smiling innocently, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cut the shit, Carter."

A couple of the boys snickered, wide eyed and startled at how Iris was talking to their leader. Maybe it was because he was their alpha and no one was supposed to challenge their alpha like that, or maybe it was because they were under the impression that dainty females didn't cuss. Either way, the boys sat with their mouths gaping like fish, waiting to hear what Carter had to say next.

"Fine," he finally spoke. It was said softly, but his expression was anything but soft. He was staring at Iris with a razor sharp glare, and his jovial smile had dropped off his face.

Iris raised her eyebrows, signaling for him to go on.

"Did you hook up with any girls?"

She hesitated, debating her options. She could say no and risk appearing like a total prude, or say yes and have a new wave of rumors as to who she was sleeping with sweep around the school. If they weren't wondering that already.

Iris nodded once.

"What was it like?"

Iris clenched her jaw. The boys around her had stopped their gaping, and sat on the edge of their seat. This was probably the most action half of them were going to get this year, and suddenly their idiocy was pouring out of them like water.

"Who's like the boy?"

"Did you do scissoring?"

"It isn't really sex if nothing 'goes in.'"

"You just need a real guy to show you how much you miss penis."

Iris grimaced, which only seemed to cause Carter's smirk to grow wider.

Abruptly, Iris stood up, the boys questions still trailing behind her, "You know, this has been great but-"

"Ah, c'mon, Iris," Carter laughed. He was laughing at her. "It's just a joke. Don't be so sensitive."

A hot wave of anger flushed through her body, starting in her stomach and ending in her fists. Clenching her hands by her side, Iris spun around sharply, and lifted her head high above the table of laughing, mocking boys.

"What do you want to hear, Carter?" Iris burst out, causing some of the boy's laughter to die away. "Do you want to hear in detail about eating pussy? How to do it? Because, if we're going on what Paislee told me last year, you could definitely use some tips." That shut them up. "Pro tip: the clit is not an eraser and every girl has one." She leaned closer to Carter, where he was fuming with his face now red, "Or maybe... Maybe you want to hear how I feel about it? How much I love it? Because I do. I do love it. I love making a girl quiver and squirm, just with my tongue. I love it when she needs to grab onto the headboard or sheets or, God, my hair because I make her feel like she's floating in space and time. I love it when she calls out the names of Jesus and God because, apparently, nothing but heaven can feel like what I'm making her feel," there was silence at the table now. Some of the boys looked disgusted, while others looked close to drooling. But Carter looked nothing except absolutely furious. "But you know what I love the most?" she paused for dramatic affect, as she lowered her voice and leant so her mouth was a breadth away from his. "I love knowing that any time, any day I want, I could make your girl wish she was with me every second she has to be with you. Every time you thrust that weak dick in and out, I can be the one making her closing her eyes and picturing me, moaning for me, coming for me. Because you ain't shit, Carter. Remember that."

Iris stood up straight and let that sit. The other boys at the table hadn't seemed to be able to hear her whispering, but people nearby had taken notice to her little display and their not-quite-kiss. But for the first time that day, she didn't feel intimidated or ashamed at the attention, she smiled at their glances and grinned at their gossip, pride pressing on her chest. Enough that she finally braved glancing up, towards the balcony.

Oh.

It appeared that the neighboring tables weren't the only ones who took notice.

A shiver ran down her spine, and her suddenly confident attitude was shattered. Not that she let it show. Picking up her bag, she turned and marched herself out of the cafeteria without another word. A cold chill had settled over her body, and she was quick to escape the blue eyes made of ice that were boring into her back.

Author's Note: Well, shit. This chapter went in an entirely different direction than I originally planned. I think I surprised myself a little bit, especially with Iris's little speech there at the end... Does it help if I say I've been watching a lot of Orange is the New Black? I think the prison talk is leaking into my head.

- The discrimination Iris faces based on her sexuality and gender are both things I've experienced before. I didn't react quite as Iris did, but I wish I had.

- This chapter is super long. It's almost 4,500 words, when I originally only planned on 2k at the most. But you know, the creative juices were flowing.

- This needs sooooooo much editing. I can already feel it. Like, it's a good chapter, it's a solid chapter but I can tell I will definitely need to revise and rewrite once this is all finished. But I have to get through the rough draft first.

- I really like this chapter, and in comparison chapter 1 is really really lame. I'm thinking I might rewrite it. Thoughts?

- Side note: if anyone's interested in editing, hmu

- Things are becoming a little more clear, right? I feel like I've given everything away in this chapter, but I know it's probably super vague and a little mysterious still. Comment with any theories, which I can't promise I won't use as inspiration and put in my story.

- Please comment!

- Remember when I said my author's notes were gonna be shorter? Should've known that was a lie.

Ciao