Mirror, Mirror
This takes place fall of Brittney’s freshman year
The dining hall was crowed and noisy . . . the sound of loud voices and laughter floating over the clink of silverware against china. Like all Friday nights’ dinner was being served family style at the tables—girls from all four grades sitting with a different member of the faculty or administration each week. It was one of the most casual nights of the week at Saint Francis and the girls were permitted to dress in after school clothes instead of in uniform—jeans, polo shirts, etc. They only had to be neat and clean; no riding boots, torn jeans, or clothes of an “inappropriate” nature (short skirts, low cut blouses) were allowed. Brittney and Jen were assigned to Dean Michaels’ table tonight. It was one of the best dinner assignments to draw on campus. The Dean was really fun . . . he liked to talk and laugh with the girls; dinner at his table was very relaxed—like you were back home sitting around the kitchen table instead of at boarding school. It didn’t hurt matters that he was so young and cute . . . all the girls had a bit of a crush on the popular, young Assistant Dean and having Friday night dinner at his table was a sure way to get a little individual attention from him!

“Please pass the ketchup,” Jen says as she puts the bowl of mashed potatoes back in the center of the table. Brittney reaches over and slides the bottle halfway down the long oak table, smiling as it stops directly in front of Jen. “You know better than that Britt,” the Dean says, his eyebrow raising slightly. “I expect you to have better manners than that when you’re sitting at my table young lady. Got it?” She nods, scowling slightly, a blush coming to her face. “Yes Dean,” Britt responds as she busies herself by cutting a bite of meatloaf, “sorry about that.” She looks over at him slyly and adds, “You’ve gotta admit though, pretty smooth delivery, huh?” He looks over at her and laughs. “Yeah, it was . . . but remember, good manners are important, so next time pass the bottle the normal way, ok?” Brittney nods, smiling.

The girls all dig into their meals, answering the Dean’s questions about their week. Classes, upcoming exams, what they have planned for the weekend. He smiles over their answers . . . typical for young girls after a long week of challenging classes. “Mr. Conyers is giving WAY too much homework in Geometry Dean, I mean . . . really . . . I spent two whole hours each night just doing that this week. I’m spending so much time on math I’m falling behind in all my other classes!” a sophomore named Paula says with a disgusted look on her face. Andy reassures her that Geometry WILL get easier to understand eventually and that she should join one of the study groups he set up. “Lauren Mitchell and Kelli Simpson are both geometry whizzes Paula and I’m sure one or both of them could squeeze another girl in their group. If not, I can give you a little one-on-one tutoring, ok?” Paula nods smiling as she reaches for the pitcher of milk to pour herself another glass. “Thanks Dean, you’re a lifesaver!” she responds.

“I got an A on my History paper Dean,” Jen interjects with a shy smile. “That’s great Jen,” he says as he turns his attention toward the other end of the table. “What was it about?” She begins to explain how she followed the two sides of her families’ immigration to the United States. “It was really interesting Dean. I mean, I knew they came over about the same time and they both came through Ellis Island, but my dad’s family were wealthy landowners in France and my mom’s ancestors were farmers in Ireland who came over during the potato famine. I couldn't believe how differently they got treated! I mean, really . . . I thought America was the place where ‘All men are created equal!’ Let me tell you, that’s a bunch of . . . uhmmmm . . .” she stops, blushing furiously as she realizes she nearly told Dean Michaels that it was a bunch of crap! “Well . . . lets just say it wasn't true!” He smiles, “I’d love to read it Jen and you know, the sociology classes do a project on their family trees each year . . . I bet that Miss Kelsy would like to read it as well. She’s been talking about wanting a new way for her girls to trace their families.” Jen gives him a huge smile blushing as she nods. She takes a bite of her meatloaf and washes it down with a sip of milk. “I’ll get you both a copy first thing Monday morning,” she says.

They all continue to talk, sharing bits and pieces of their week. This was one of his favorite parts of the job and his recent promotion to Assistant Dean gave him a lot more opportunities to interact with the girls than he had when he had simply been a teacher. He smiled, listening to them eagerly chatter and interrupt each other, anxious to get a word in edgewise. Andy hadn’t been too sure about accepting the offer to become Assistant Dean, it took away from his class load, but he quickly discovered that the job had a lot to offer. He was able to provide more tutoring and focus on his advanced classes and, more importantly provide individual attention to his girls when they needed it—whether it was with their assignments or their personal problems. The girls really liked and trusted him . . . he was young enough to make them feel more comfortable in confiding in him than they did with most of the administration and staff. He could relate to them on a more personal level, understood their troubles better than old man Clancy or the Sisters. He was mature enough though to be a role model and authority figure for the girls when needed. In just a short time he had developed a reputation among the girls of being firm, but fair and someone they could turn to when they needed help.

As the girls on serving duty bring dessert over to the tables, he looks up and asks, “Is everyone ready for class photos tomorrow?” They all eagerly dive into their slices of hot apple pie, nodding their heads. “Yeah . . . and it’s WAY cool the way you decided we should do them this year!” Carol McGregor, one of the seniors at the table said. “I mean, I hated those stupid posed shots we had to take in the past . . . stand on the X in front of the cheesy background and smile! Gag . . . we ended up looking like dorks!” The other girls quickly agree. They really liked the fact that Dean Michaels had some new ideas and was willing to get with the times! He got a huge smile on his face, pleased that the girls were so excited about his idea. They were going to do the traditional full class photos on the front steps of each of the dorms this year . . . freshmen in front of Benning, sophomores in front of Founders, etc. All the girls would be in formal uniform for that one. Afterward though, instead of having the everyday head shots of each girl individually in uniform against a backdrop he’d decided to have the photographer take each girls photo in their favorite location on campus or participating in their favorite activity. The girls had gotten really creative too—several were going to be photographed with their favorite horse . . . either in jeans or riding clothes, some in the art studio painting or at the pottery wheel, others playing the piano or tennis. He really left it open to their imaginations. Andy was pleased that the idea seemed to catch on with the girls. He thought it would be so much nicer for them to be able to look back at their annuals years from now. Even though it was a small campus and the girls all knew each other well and formed a close-knit family during their years at Saint Francis, the years tended to fade memories. He thought years from now when they showed their daughters and granddaughters their Saint Francis Annual that they'd be able to remember who the girls were behind their academic achievements. It would be more meaningful than just page after page of head shots of girls wearing identical blazers, ties and headbands. The girls were individuals and he wanted their class photos to reflect that.

Dinner comes to an end and he reminds them all to start their homework tonight instead of putting it off until Sunday. “Awwwww Dean . . . come on, it’s Friday night!” The girls chorus, citing a number of important plans. “Yeah, they’re showing a movie in the second floor common room of Benning Hall tonight,” Brittney says as she wrinkles her nose over the thought of starting her homework tonight. “No way I’m gonna miss that. Having no TV all week is like torture!” He shoots her a smile . . . “Like torture, huh? Now I didn’t say you girls have to do ALL your homework, or study the entire night. I just expect everyone to put in a little time and effort on that and any other nagging chores you’ve been putting off. Do a couple of loads of laundry or iron some fresh shirts for next week, tidy up your rooms, write your parents or friends back home. I’m sure they’d like to hear you haven’t fallen off the face of the earth. It’s only 7:00 pm and I’m sure any dorm activities your SA’s planned won’t start until 8:30 or 9:00 pm. Remember, good time management . . . ok?” Rolling their eyes slightly, the girls agree knowing deep down he was right. The weekends were short enough as it is. If they did some of their homework tonight they wouldn’t have to spend an entire day in the library.

Dismissing them he watches the girls walk toward their dorms laughing and joking. He lingers a few minutes drinking another cup of coffee as the girls on “after” duty clear the dishes from the table and load them onto the conveyer belt to move into the kitchen. He decides to do some work of his own for a couple of hours, then make a quick round through the dorms before heading for the large cottage he shared with Walt Stillfield and Dennis O’Leary. The two of them would probably be playing poker with a few of the guys who taught at Saint Sebastian’s. Perhaps if he didn’t get back too late he might sit in on a couple of hands, but it was going to be a long day tomorrow and probably in all honesty he’d just turn in for the night. He’d noticed more and more recently that while Dennis and Walt were great guys, easygoing and fun, he didn’t have a lot in common with them. He was interested in becoming more involved with things at Saint Francis while they tended to simply teach their classes and otherwise keep to themselves. They were good teachers, but not passionate about their work the way he was. They kidded him about being on the fast track to Dullsville, but honestly he liked his life right now. Sure there were a few things that could make it better—specifically a place of his own, a steady girlfriend and the time to enroll in grad school for his master’s degree but he couldn’t see himself trading in his life at Saint Francis for money and power. It certainly wasn’t what he expected to be doing when he graduated from Saint Sebastian’s and headed off to Stanford, but he’d done a lot of growing up these past few years and wanted different things from life now. He liked hearing his girls call him Dean Michaels and he liked being part of an academic environment. Andy wasn’t sorry he chose teaching and he didn’t regret his decision to come back to central Pennsylvania even if he did miss the California sunshine in the middle of winter!

An hour later Andy is at his desk up to his eyeballs in work. Somehow Dean Clancy managed to fill his inbox again between Andy’s afternoon meeting with the ASB Honor Council and dinner. He goes over the new materials quickly. “Status report . . . weekly attendance sheets . . . approve proposed menus for the dining hall for next week . . . forward check request to the accounting department for the produce market, the dairy and the butcher . . . call Saint Seb’s about the joint choral performance rehearsal next week.” Andy reaches for his Franklin Planner to make a note about an Alumni Tea that he needed to help set up with the senior girls just as old man Clancy walked into his small office without knocking. “Michaels, you busy?” he asked forcefully as he strode across the office and looked at Andy hard at work. Andy took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes as he bit his tongue. Clancy gave him so much work that the word “busy” took on a whole new meaning. He was constantly trying to keep his head above water, fighting to get too much done in too little time. He had so many projects going on that half the time that Andy wondered precisely what Dean Clancy did these days.

Politely he says, “Always time for you. Would you like some coffee?” “No, only got a minute, I’m on my way to the airport. I got a last minute invitation to speak at a symposium on education. Someone backed out and the need me right away. The conference starts tomorrow and I’ll be back on Wednesday night.” (In reality he’s headed off to the Cayman Islands for a long weekend with the latest in a long line of beautiful, dimwitted younger women, writing it off as a business expense.) “Need you to cover things for me Michaels. Think you can hold down the fort?” He quickly nods, brightening visibly. He’d assumed temporary leadership of Saint Francis a couple of times since the term began and had really enjoyed filling in for Dean Clancy. “No problem I can handle things just fine,” he quickly responds. “Good, Michaels, good, knew I could count on you. I’ve got to run, see you in a few days.” With that he blows out of the office leaving Andy alone.

Andy works another 20 minutes or so before he shuts down the computer, puts away his files and heads across the Quad to check on the dorms. He starts at Grier Hall, chatting briefly with a number of seniors, checking in on a couple of girls who were having trouble with roommates or classes. As he visits with students in the various dorms, Brittney's waiting in line to use the phone in Benning Hall . . .

“About time Daphne,” she says rolling her eyes as the girl in the far booth finally hangs up the phone and walks out of the small cubby. “Hey Daniels, I have a social life to take care of, ya know?! I mean what, you're probably gonna call your folks or something . . . I was talking to my boyfriend . . . WAY more important let me tell you!” “Yeah Ellis, whatever,” Brittney says, giving Daphne a bored look. “The rest of us have lives too and you were on the phone like forever! I’m surprised it didn’t take the Jaws of Life to remove the receiver from your ear!” Daphne sticks out her tongue as she passes Britt. “Hey, lucky for you I ran out of change Daniels. Next time I just might stay on the line all night!” Brittney rolls her eyes again as she hurries into the cubby and sits down as she pulls out her phone card. It was nearly 6:00 pm back home in California and her dad usually got home early on Friday nights. He liked to play golf with clients on Friday afternoons and come home for a bit to shower and change before heading out for dinner or a show or a movie premiere for one of his clients. Sitting down she quickly punched in the number, listening to the phone ring . . . one, two, three . . . “Hello,” she heard the deep, firm voice say into the receiver. He sounded as clear as if they were in the same room. “Hi Daddy!” Brittney responded, her entire face lighting up at the sound of his voice. “Hey, Princess how's my girl doing?” he asks. She can hear him shuffle a bunch of papers into a file and open and close his desk drawer. “Fine Daddy . . . you still working?” “No, no, just wrapping things up for the night. I had a couple of calls to make to Tokyo when I got in from golf today. Got a big deal going and I leave for Japan on Monday. You behaving yourself Princess?” Brittney smiles mischievously to herself. ‘Behaving’ was a relative concept when you thought about it . . . she hadn’t gotten caught making any mischief recently so she innocently answers, “Yes Daddy . . . Scout’s Honor!” He laughs, “You were NEVER a scout Princess but I’ll overlook that for a minute. Now, tell me what you’re up to at school. How’d your English paper go? I read the email you sent of it . . . I thought it was really good.”

Brittney was about to answer when she heard another voice in the background . . . quiet, high pitched . . . she strained to hear but it wasn’t close enough to catch what was being said. Suddenly her father said, “It’ll be just a minute, ok Princess?” “Sure Daddy,” Brittney answers, “I can hold on.” “Oh, Britt, sorry, not you honey,” he says clearly distracted now. Her face pales as she listens to her father start to talk to the other voice. “NOT ME?!” she thinks, her lower lip trembling . . . she knew who the other voice was! Brittney suddenly drops the receiver, not even bothering to hang up and races out of the phone cubby, hurrying to her dorm room and slamming the door behind her.

Jen is gone and the room is empty. “The movie must have already started,” Brittney thinks to herself dimly as she throws herself face down on her bed and starts to cry into her pillow. “He calls HER Princess?!” she thinks dismayed. “I’m his Princess . . . his one and only special Princess!” Her small body is racked with sobs, “How could he call her that?!” The more she plays the conversation over in her head, the angrier she becomes. After about 10 minutes she gets up and looks at her tearstained reflection in the mirror over the dresser. “I’m Daddy’s Princess . . . not HER . . . NEVER, EVER HER!!!!” Brittney says to her reflection, her voice strained and bitter. She starts to cry again, looking in the mirror as the tears poured down her cheeks. As long as Britt could remember Daddy had told her SHE was his Princess. “Every castle can only have one Princess and you’re Princess Brittney of Castle Daniels,” he’d say as sat her in front of the vanity in her bedroom and brushed her long, lustrous golden locks. She’d use her bedspread as a cape and once her hair was brushed she’d put the tiara her Daddy had her bought from a movie house auction on top of her head. Then they’d sit in the window seat in her room looking out at the ocean and he’d tell her amazing stories about Castle Daniels and Princess Brittney, the lady of the land. Obviously those days had come to an end . . . he had a new Princess now at Castle Daniels.

Sniffling and sobbing, red-faced and out of breath, she sat down and picked up her hairbrush and began to brush her hair in hard, angry strokes. She yanked the brush through her hair, hating him more and more with each pass of the brush. Looking up she asks her reflection angrily . . . “Mirror, Mirror on the wall . . . who’s the fairest one of all?” Turning crimson she screams . . . “SHE IS . . . HIS NEW PRINCESS!!!!” Brittney suddenly throws her hairbrush against the mirror, cracking it right down the middle. She begins to laugh hysterically, thinking, “Seven years bad luck!” Looking at her now fractured reflection she goes over to her desk and opens a drawer, pulling out a sharp, shiny new pair of scissors.

Brittney hurries back to the mirror, her hands surprisingly calm, though the rest of her is shaking. She looks at her face in the cracked mirror. It was all distorted like a funhouse mirror. “I’ll show him,” she thinks as she grabs a handful of hair and opens the scissors, chopping off a large chunk of hair well above her shoulders and dropping it onto the dresser. She thought that perhaps this would make a good present for dear old Dad. “That's it! I’ll send it to him!” Brittney wondered what his new Princess would think when they opened the box. Brittney keeps yanking and hacking at her hair in sections and soon all of her beautiful blonde, waist length locks are shorn . . . hair spilling from the vanity and the floor. She looks up and stares at her reflection, sickly stunned . . . thinking, “Oh my god . . . NO . . . what have I done?!” A fresh flood of tears start pouring down her face and she drops the scissors, sinks to her knees in the middle of the floor, her head in her hands as she sobs uncontrollably.

Andy makes his way through Benning Hall whistling as he walks. Of all the dorms he liked visiting the freshmen one the best. The girls were so full of life and high spirits. Tonight the halls were pretty quiet—at least as quiet as a dorm of 14 and 15 year old girls ever got! The majority of the freshmen were watching a movie in the large second floor common area with a couple of SA’s, but there were girls spilling in and out of several dorm rooms, playing cards or other games, gossiping and doing makeovers. He turned the corner and began to walk past a set of phone cubby’s. There was a set on each floor. As he got close to the one on the end he heard someone faintly say “Hello? Hello? You still there?” Andy got a frown on his face, “Where on earth is that coming from?” he thinks to himself. “Hello? Come on Princess . . . we’ve got dinner reservations . . . pick up . . .” He pokes his head into each cubby and at the third and final one he sees the receiver dangling.

“Hello?” Andy says as he picks up the receiver. “Oh good . . . finally. Who is this?” the voice on the other end says. “This is Dean Michaels. Were you holding for someone?” The speaker sounds relieved. “Oh good Dean, this is Carter Daniels, Brittney’s father. One minute I was speaking to her and I needed to have her hold for a minute. When I came back she was gone. She must’ve gone to get a drink or something and forgotten I was on the line. I can only hold another minute, otherwise we’ll have to talk on Sunday.” “Give me a second Mr. Daniels, I’ll go track her down,” Andy says quickly. “Ok, but hurry please. We've got dinner reservations and I don’t want to be late.”

He quickly puts down the receiver and goes down the hall to Brittney and Jen’s room. Andy raises his hand to knock and stops, hearing the sound of someone sobbing hysterically. Alarmed he opens the door, openmouthed as he catches a good look at Brittney. “Oh my god . . . what on earth happened Britt?!” he asks, looking from the sobbing girl to the broken mirror and the pile of hair on the dresser and floor. She sobs louder as he stares at her. Obviously she was in no condition to talk to her dad. He walks over and touches her head, stroking the short, chopped ends gently. “I’ll be right back Britt, don’t move ok? We'll fix things in a minute.” He hurries back down the hall and picks up the phone. “You were right Mr. Daniels. She went to get something to drink and they started the movie and she forgot you were holding. She understands about you having to go do dinner. How about she calls you on Sunday instead?” “That sounds fine Dean, tell her I love her and I’ll talk to her on Sunday. Bye . . .” abruptly the phone disconnects and Andy hangs back up the receiver and runs back to Britt’s room . . .

When he gets back to Brittney’s room he finds her curled into a tight ball, crying her eyes out. She’s clutching a fistful of hair in her hand and he can hear her saying “NO . . . plllease . . . NO . . . put . . . put it back . . . put it back!” over and over as she sobs. Andy takes a quick look at the mirror, the hair on the ground, the ragged, uneven strands of hair hanging around Brittney’s face, a few random locks still flowing down her back to her waist. He drops to his knees and gently uncurls her fingers, prying the handful of hair away from her. “Shhhh . . . Brittney . . . shhhhhh . . . tell me what happened.” Andy says as she begins to moan pitifully. He knew it was unlikely, but he had to ask. He knew how vindictive and spiteful girls were sometimes and it wouldn’t be the first time something like this occurred. “Did someone do this to you Britt?” he asks gently. She shakes her head wildly. “Did someone force you to do it yourself?” Again the wild shake of the head was the response. Her thoughts were totally incoherent. Brittney hurt so badly inside, she felt as if she had been punched in the stomach when she heard her dad call that woman Princess! She had wanted to hurt him . . . hurt them . . . but all she had done was hurt herself. Brittney’s hair was her best feature, everyone always commented on how beautiful it was . . . the color was a deep gold that shined in the sun . . . and the locks were thick and wavy. She kept it very long, all the way to her slender waist, just like a princess in a fairy tale, just like her dad always said she was . . . and now . . . she looked like a hideous monster! Brittney wanted to die and when she remembered that class photos were tomorrow she closed her eyes tight and her moaning turned to wails of pity and despair.

Andy held her, stroking her mangled locks as she cried. Obviously she’d done this herself and not by force. He wasn’t sure what had provoked her actions but he was quite concerned. He had been worried about Brittney ever since Parents Weekend. Andy wasn’t sure precisely what happened when Brittney called her father from his office, but he was sure it wasn’t anything good. She’d been gone a week and several of her friends had been flown down to Florida by Mr. Daniels over the weekend, but she’d come back tan and sullen—not exactly what he’d expected after she spent a week Disney World. He hadn’t wanted to push her, obviously she didn’t want to confide in him . . . in anyone, but it was glaringly apparent that she was in a great deal of pain. She was different than most girls, that was obvious. Other girls lashed out at those around them when they were hurt or angry. Brittney Daniels turned a lot of her pain within and Andy was frightened for her. She was an angry young lady and he feared for her safety. The entire school had been stunned last year when one of the most popular juniors on campus had committed suicide. There hadn’t been any visible warning signs, no outward anger or depression. Since then they’d all been on alert to potential problems. While Brittney seemed angry most of the time, not depressed, Andy was concerned that her tendency to lash out at herself when mad or frustrated might cause her to unintentionally hurt herself. This time only her hair had suffered, next time she might do something a lot worse. She obviously acted on impulse and that was dangerous. “If a piece of that mirror had fallen instead of simply cracked she might have slashed her wrists instead of her hair,” he thought to himself, as improbable as it seemed.

Looking at her he tried to figure out what to do. He couldn’t let her know but it was really awful. Her hair was hacked off in uneven levels all over her head. Andy knew how self-conscious the girls were about their looks, he wasn’t about to know how terrible she looked as a result of her tantrum. He crossed the room and quickly gathered up a jacket and small wire basket with her toiletries. He looked around and grabbed a baseball cap and came back beside Brittney, helping her put on her jacket over her jammies and putting the hat firmly on her head. Andy found a box to put her hair in, hiding it from sight. She was still crying uncontrollably, shaking horribly. He sat down on her bed and held her on his lap letting her cry as he yanked his cell phone out of his pocket. He hit speed dial and fortunately he heard the voice he wanted on the other end. “Helen, It’s Andy.” “Andy? What’s wrong? Who is that crying? Did one of the girls have an accident? Do you need an ambulance?” “No Helen, nothing like that, but I do need to bring one of the freshmen girls over right away.” He quickly explains what he needs and lets her know they’ll be there in a few minutes. Hanging up the phone Andy asks Britt who her senior is. It takes a few minutes but she finally gulps out a name. Andy sets her on the bed, watching her curl back into a ball. He jots two notes, one for Britt’s roommate Jen, the other for Marci Manning her senior saying it looked like Britt might be coming down with something and he was taking her to the infirmary for the night just to be safe. No sense telling them what had happened . . . he still barely understood why she had done what she had himself. He left one on Jen’s bed and quickly taped the other one to Marci’s door down the hall. Then, returning to Britt, he picked up the basket with her things, lifted the small girl in his arms and carried her out of Benning Hall and across the Quad toward Helen’s cottage.

Brittney was clinging tightly to his neck, only vaguely aware of what was happening. She was still totally dazed, but somehow she recognized that Dean Michaels had come to rescue her. She felt so safe, his arms were wrapped around her securely, his voice gentle and reassuring as he carried her away from Benning Hall. “My hero,” Brittney thinks. “He’s going to rescue me just like the prince in a fairy tale!” That made her feel warm and cared for. “Daddy can have his new Princess,” she thinks sobbing, “I have a new Prince Charming.” Her body starts to relax against him as she cries herself out and by the time Andy reaches Helen’s door Brittney is asleep in his arms.

Helen is waiting at the door and opens it wide as Andy comes up the walk with Brittney in his arms. She takes the small bag from him and quickly points Andy to her guestroom where he gently lays Britt on the bed, taking off her slippers and laying a quilt over her small body. He quietly removes the baseball cap and smoothes her damaged hair back from her forehead. Helen’s eyes widen and she puts her hand on Andy’s shoulder. He turns and she beckons him from the room, closing the door quietly behind them. “Let the poor little mite sleep for a while Andy.” She says as he sits down in the living room and she brings him a cup of tea. “What on earth happened? She looks like one of those girls in the war movies . . . the one’s who have their hair hacked from their heads for collaborating with the Nazi’s. Did she do that herself or did someone do it to her?” He sighs deeply, “She did it herself. I don’t know why Helen; I wish I did. Were you able to track down someone to fix that mess?” Helen nods, “Yes, finally. I was lucky, all the salons were closed but fortunately someone answered at one of them and I convinced them to come out here first thing in the morning to fix that before the photographer comes.” She thinks a minute then adds, “In all honesty though I don’t know if it CAN be fixed. I didn’t think it would be so bad Andy. When you said she’d had a Saint Francis haircut I thought one of the other girls had tried to give her a trim and it was uneven.” They talk for a while and Helen finally sends Andy back to his cottage with the reassurance that she’ll look after Britt. “Don’t worry Andy and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Andy has a restless night, the images of Brittney surrounded by piles of hair still fresh in his mind. Someone was coming to fix the outward damage, but it was up to him to try and fix the damage that was obviously inside of her. He felt bad, really bad because he knew she had to be hurting in some way. It was clear though that he had to take a firm hand with Brittney, temper tantrums and bratiness needed to be nipped in the bud before they got out of control. In his mind her temper was already dangerously close to being totally out of control. As Andy fell asleep he decided what course of action he needed to take . . .

The next morning . . .

Brittney rolled over and stretched in the sunlight, slowly opening her eyes. Her eyes widened with confusion as she took in the sight of a strange room. “Where on earth am I?!” she thinks as she brings her hand up to flip her hair over her shoulder. That’s when she realized she no longer HAD hair long enough to flip over her shoulder and the memories of the night before came flooding back to her. Brittney’s eyes started to water and she leapt out of bed . . . a mirror, she need a mirror to see just how bad it really was! As she got to the door it suddenly opened and Helen walked through with a cup of hot chocolate, her dress uniform and a big smile. “Morning sleepyhead,” she said kindly, not bothering to comment on Britt’s new hairdo. “I brought you something to warm you up, it’s chilly this morning. Dean Michaels just dropped off your dress uniform and I’ll start breakfast shortly. Thought you might like to eat with me instead of the dining hall. I make great chocolate chip pancakes or I can do omelets if you like.” Brittney stares at her openmouthed. “Uhmm . . . well um . . .” “I know, you'd probably like to take a shower first, right?” Brittney nods her head, still unsure of what’s going on. “Well go ahead and meet me in the kitchen when you’re done. Bathroom is down the hall, last door on the left.”

Brittney drinks her hot chocolate and wanders into the bathroom, starting the shower as she looks for a mirror. Surprisingly she can’t find one. Sighing she steps into the shower, quickly washing what’s left of her hair. She turns off the water and steps out, drying off and wrapping her hair in a towel. She pulls on the robe Helen thoughtfully left for her and walks into the kitchen barefoot. Helen was sitting at the table with a young woman Brittney had never seen before. She stops, uncertain. “Oh, sorry to interrupt,” Brittney says. “You’re not interrupting Britt,” Helen says with a smile. “Annie is here to see you.” “Me?” “Yep, she’s from the salon in town, thought you might like a trim before your class pictures today.” Brittney blushes as she nods, her hand going to the towel. “I think it’s hopeless though.” Annie gets up and puts her arm around Britt’s shoulder. “Nothing’s hopeless, I’m a pro . . . come on, this won’t take long . . .”

Annie leads Brittney into the guestroom where she had set up while Brittney was showering. She grabs a comb and a pair of scissors and begins to shape Brittney’s hair as she talks. Brittney bites her lip, listening to the snip of the scissors. “It can’t be fixed,” she thinks to herself miserably. “I look just awful!” About 30 minutes later Annie pulls out a blow dryer and quickly dries Brittney’s hair, styling it into shape. “Ok, all finished,” she says brightly. “Turn around and let me see.” Brittney gets up slowly and turns around. Annie smiles, holding out a mirror, “I think it looks great. Here, see what you think.” Brittney takes the mirror and looks up slowly, her eyes widening in surprise. She looks so different . . . she likes it, it’s just SO different, and Brittney barely recognizes herself. She doesn’t look like Daddy’s Princess anymore. She gives Annie a tentative smile as her eyes fill with tears. “Hey, none of that Britt.” Brittney wipes her eyes and gives her a bigger smile. “Sorry, it’s just . . . well I’ve never had short hair before.” Annie smiles, understanding, even under the best of circumstances it’s hard to get used to such a dramatic change. She remembered when she had her own hair cut short. She had wanted to do it, but after the fact she bawled like a ten-year-old. “It’ll grow back if you don't like it, but it really suits you. You’ve got a beautiful face and this style really highlights it. I’ll leave you to get dressed.” Brittney takes another look in the mirror, mumbling her assent . . .

Brittney dresses quickly and heads back to the kitchen for breakfast. She sits and Helen slides a full plate of pancakes in front of her. They eat quietly, Brittney’s hand goes to her hair from time to time self-consciously. Just as they finish, there’s a knock on the cottage door. “That’ll be Dean Michaels, Brittney,” Helen says as she takes Britt’s plate from her. “You’d better get going so you’re not late for photos.” Brittney nods and gets up and starts toward the door. She suddenly stops, turns and goes back to Helen, giving her a big hug. “Thanks Helen,” she says. “You saved my life.” Helen smiles, “You’re welcome sweetie, but honestly, Dean Michaels is the one who threw you the life preserver. He brought you here last night and got me to call Annie out here today.” The events of last night all flood back . . . the way the Dean held her, reassured her, picked her up and carried her out of her room like a knight in shining armor! She nods and races to the door to let the Dean inside.

Andy greets Brittney with a smile. “Hey there . . . don’t you look pretty this morning,” he says as she steps out onto the walkway. Brittney blushes furiously at his compliment. He stops her at the gate and turns her so she’s facing him. “Let me take a good look,” he says as he straightens her tie and blazer. “Nice, very nice, even remembered to button your collar.” He looks over her hair, which is now styled into a neat, becoming bob with a soft brush of bangs falling over her forehead. He tucks a stray lock behind her right ear and looks into her eyes. She has an expectant look on her face. “Do you like it?” she asks nervously. He smiles broadly at her, nodding. “I like it a lot.” He laughs, tugging on her earlobe. “I never realized you had such cute ears Britt.” She blushes furiously, her ears turning red. “Think I can get them pierced Dean? Now that they show and all . . .” she asks. “If your dad says it’s ok, I don’t see why not,” he answers. He looks her over more carefully. “I never knew you had green eyes either. They were hard to see behind all that hair.” She smiles at him, positively glowing from his compliments. “About that Dean Michaels . . . I’m sorry I . . .” he cuts her off. “I know you're sorry Britt and believe me young lady, we’ll discuss that later. Right now though I’m glad you're feeling better. Now, you’ve got class pictures to take.” They walk up to Benning Hall where most of the other freshmen are spilled out across the steps, waiting for the photographer to arrive. “I’ll see you later, ok?” he asks. She nods, a little nervous about “discuss that later” and “young lady” never good words to hear from Dean Michaels, she knew that from experience! He gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he sees her frown. He planned to be firm with her, but gentle too. He knew what had already occurred was a pretty stern consequence of her actions.

Brittney nearly forgot that she still had a meeting with the Dean to clear the slate. All the girls crowded around her, asking about her new haircut, admiring how grown up it made her look. “I love it Britt,” Jen said as she spun Brittney around to get a better look. “You sneak though, you never even hinted you were going to get it cut! I thought you said you'd never wear your hair short!!!” Brittney blushes. “It was sort of impulsive,” she responds. “I didn’t want anyone to change my mind. When I decided that was it . . . off it came!” “What do you think your dad will say?” Jen asks. Brittney makes a face. “Who cares, Daddy isn’t my boss anymore . . . I’m an adult now Jen. I can do what I want, when I want and how I want and he doesn’t get a say in it! Let him tell her what to do; she certainly looks like she needs someone to look after her!” Jen looks at Britt sympathetically. Her parents were going through a divorce right now and that was hard enough. Jen didn’t know what she’d do if her dad came home and told her that he were getting married to someone barely older than she was!

They did their formal photos in front of Benning Hall, then met with the photographer to do their individual portraits, which was really fun! He made the girls feel like they were movie stars or something. Jen and Britt went for a group trail ride and picnic that the Saddle Club was sponsoring once they were done getting their photos taken and they went directly to the library after dinner to work on their English papers. It was nearly 10 pm when they finally came back to their dorm room.

The two of them barely had time to change into their jammies and talk about joining in on the card game that was going on in Rebecca and Daphne’s room when there was a knock on the door. Jen opened it, blushing and crossing her arms in front of her Mickey Mouse nightshirt as she realized it was Dean Michaels. “Oh, hi Dean,” she said, dropping her eyes. “This is a surprise.” He ruffles her hair affectionately. “Sorry to call on you girls so late. I needed to see Brittney for a few minutes.” Jen shoots Brittney a look over her shoulder and Britt blushes, shrugging her shoulders and raising her eyebrow as Jen sends out “What did you do now?” signal. Brittney nods and says, “Sure Dean, no problem. Why don't you go on ahead of me Jen, I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.” Looking at Britt once more she nods and hurries out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Andy walks over to the dresser and looks at the crack in the mirror carefully then shifts his gaze to look at Brittney who’s standing behind him, a nervous look on her face. He walks over to her, takes her by the hand and sits her down in one of the comfortable chairs and repositions the other one so they’re facing each other. Brittney’s head is lowered, looking at her hands in her lap. He watches her for a minute then reaches his hand out and slowly tugs her chin upward. “I thought we should talk about what happened last night Brittney,” he says quietly. She looks at him, her eyes widening slightly as she asks, “Do we have to Dean Michaels?” He nods, “I think it’s important Britt. You were really out of control yesterday. Want to tell me why?” She blushes furiously, shaking her head. “Britt? Come on . . . it had to be something.” “I . . . I just lost . . . lost my temper is all,” she finally answers, her blush turning brighter. He nods, “You’ve got quite a temper Britt . . . and worse, an impulsive nature that you need to learn to control. You could have hurt yourself very easily last night Kiddo.” She scowls, “I wouldn't have hurt myself Dean, I’m not stupid!” “No, you’re not Brittney, but sometimes in the heat of the moment we do things we don’t mean to do, things we regret.” He reaches over and touches Brittney’s hair gently. “I think it was pretty obvious you regretted doing that to yourself, didn’t you?” She looks at him uncertainly. “I did, I mean, I do . . . but . . . well I like how it looks now. I was upset last night, but it’s growing on me.” He smiles, “I’m glad you like the new look Britt, but it’s the way it came about that worries me.” Her blush deepens to a bright crimson, remembering her bratty tantrum. “You need to learn to control that temper of yours young lady. No one likes a spoiled brat and no matter what you think, you can’t always get your own way Britt, got it?” She nods again, sighing.

After a few minutes she looks at him and asks, “Is that all Dean Michaels? Am I free to go?” He shakes his head. “No, we need to talk about how we’re going to correct your behavior and help you get a handle on your temper young lady.” She stiffens visibly, “You . . . you mean you’re going to punish me Dean?” “I don’t punish Britt. I ground or discipline or give extra chores or reminders to help you correct your behavior, but I NEVER punish.” But to answer your question, you’re going to have to take responsibility for your actions and face the consequences of them, got it?” Brittney nods, her breathing growing shallow.

“First off, you’re going to have to pay for that mirror you broke.” “Ok, no problem, I’ve got plenty in my student account or my daddy can write a check if it’s really expensive,” she says. Andy shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant Brittney. You’re the one who broke that mirror and I’m pretty positive it wasn’t an accident. I’m guessing you threw something at it, didn’t you?” She turns red again as she whispers, “Yes, my hairbrush Dean.“ ”I thought so. That’s the behavior of a spoiled little brat, not the attitude of a well-mannered young lady Brittney Daniels. I am not about to let you buy your way out of this one with a handout from your dad. I will loan you the money, which you will pay back with interest, understood?” She nods, frowning slightly. “How am I supposed to pay you back Dean if I can’t use my allowance or have my dad give me the money?” “I’ve worked things out with Miss Deavons in the kitchen. You’ll be washing pots and pans and doing dishes every night after dinner during the school week and after every meal on the weekends for the rest of the term instead of having a free hour before study hall begins.” Brittney’s nose wrinkles in distaste. She’d never washed a dish in her life!

“Next, your tantrum was befitting a six year old rather than a high school freshman so I think an early bedtime for the next two weeks and lines are in order. 200 each day including Saturday and Sunday. They should read, ‘I will not act like a spoiled brat or throw temper tantrums.’ I expect them to be done each night before bed. If they’re not you can expect a bedtime spanking from me with your jammies at half-mast.” Brittney began to squirm with embarrassment, nodding miserably. “Daddy NEVER, EVER spanks me . . . not even when I lose my temper!” she thinks with dismay as she listened to Dean Michaels matter-of-factly explain that he planned to spank her each and every time she threw a tantrum! She had her dad wrapped around her little finger, at least Brittney did until SHE came into his life. Obviously things were going to be different with the Dean. “It’s up to you if you want to keep acting like a spoiled brat Britt. Brat’s get spanked and if that’s what it takes I’m prepared to do it. If I had to take a guess this is long overdue. I hope it won’t be necessary again after tonight though.”

Brittney gasps, her head snapping up. “Tonight?” she asks, her voice starting to waver slightly. “Yes, tonight young lady. You’ve earned a trip over my knee for your little tantrum last night. We have a rule at Saint Francis about letting our anger get the best of us. Do you remember what it is?” She nodded slowly. “Nnnevvvverr act in aaannnggerr or lash out in frust . . . frustration.” she stammers. “That’s right, Britt. Never act in anger. Now I know that probably means to you don’t hurt others, but it also means you don’t hurt yourself. You hurt yourself with your temper tantrum last night Britt and that’s every bit as bad as if you'd hurt another girl. I like you a lot and wouldn’t want you to get hurt . . . your friends wouldn't want you to get hurt. Now, I wouldn’t do this if I didn't care what happened to you.” She nods, slightly miserable, but at the same time somewhat happy. “He cares about what happens to me!” she thinks. “He’d be sorry if something bad happened to me!” He gets out of his chair and picks up her hairbrush from the dresser. Crossing over he sits on her bed and pats his lap expectantly with the hairbrush. “Come on Brittney, let’s take care of business and I’ll tuck you in for the night, ok?”

She rises from the chair and walks over to Dean Michaels, fidgeting as she stopped in front of him. “Over my jammies?” she asks hopefully. He shakes his head and with trembling hands she pulls the bottoms of her striped boxer short pajamas down to just below her bottom. He puts down the brush and turns her over, pulling the jammies further down so they’re resting around the backs of her knees. Her small, pale cheeks peek out from the pajama top and he pushes it up slightly, exposing her cheeks fully. Drawing back his hand he begins to firmly spank her with his palm, each spank causing her to close her eyes and shift across his lap slightly. “Smack, smack, smack . . . smack, smack, smack, smack, smack . . . CRACK . . . WHAP!!!” Brittney's lower lip begins to tremble as the spanking continues, the Dean’s lecture smarting more than the warming he was giving her cheeks. “Spoiled . . . not what I expect from a young lady like you . . . MUST learn to control your temper . . . bratiness is not attractive.” Her bottom is warm and pink as he picks up the hairbrush and begins to launch a sharp volley of spanks from cheek to cheek, turning the warm pink flesh to red and hot. “SMACK . . . SMACKKKKK . . . SMMAAAAAACKKKKK . . . SMAAAAACKKKKK!!!!!” Brittney holds out as long as she can, then suddenly goes slack across his lap as she begins to sob and plead to be forgiven. “I promise I won’t be such a brat anymore Dean . . . honest . . . I don’t want you to think I’m spoiled . . . I’ll do anything to improve . . . I’ll do dishes for the next four years if you give me another chance! I can be well behaved, I swear!!!!”

Andy drops the brush beside him and sets her on her feet, pulling up her jammies for her before wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tight. “I know you can beat this Brittney . . . I know you can do ANYTHING you put your mind to. You always get another chance with me as long as you try your best, got it?” She nods, a fresh stream of tears flowing down her face. She cries herself out on his shoulder and he wipes her eyes, pushing her hair back. Taking her by the hand he stands her in front of the mirror and brushes her hair as he tells her that he’s really proud of her right now. Brittney felt warm all over. It was just like when her dad used to brush her hair, only somehow better. She didn’t care about her dad any more. He could do whatever he wanted with THAT woman, From now on she was going to focus all of her energy on the man who really cared for her. As she allowed Dean Michaels to tuck her into bed, and she closed her eyes, she began to dream how her life would someday be . . .

The next day a new mirror was installed over their dresser and as Brittney looked at her reflection she asked, “Mirror, Mirror on the wall . . . who’s the fairest one of all?” Smiling to herself she answers, “Princess Brittney of Castle Michaels . . .”

© September 1999, Mary Catherine Whitney