Waiting for it
She'd really blown it this time. How could she have been so silly and let her temper run away with her, and with 'Whacker' Wilcox, the maths teacher, of all people? He was never slow to invite the girls to take their place over the punishment stool and she should simply accepted her fate when she was late with her homework yet again. But of all things, to start screaming at him that she hated maths, hated algebra, and hated homework! What had she been thinking of?
As soon as she'd had her rant she regretted it. 'Whacker' had just looked at her for a moment, tapping the leather strap against his hand. Then he'd pointed at the stool and ordered her to sit down. He'd placed the strap on her knees and told her to sit there and wait for him. He was going to see the Headmaster to ask for permission to give her twelve strokes, instead of the regulation six. Under the circumstances, he was bound to agree. She'd tried picking up the strap: it was heavier than she thought it would be and felt very, very stingy. Oh Lord! Twelve strokes with this thing across her bare bottom would be agony. She was pale with fear.
She could hear 'Whacker's' footsteps returning purposefully down the corridor.