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"Wrong again, Mr. Barry!" jeered Tiffany Criswell, interrupting the teacher's chemistry lecture, "they're INVERSELY proportional, not DIRECTLY proportional!"
David Barry began to once again seethe inside. He had become accustomed to the young woman's intellectual challenges over the course of the school year. The interruptions were becoming at least a weekly occurrence. Unfortunately, she was usually right. But it still felt like a kick in the groin every time she did it.
"What are you saying?" he responded. "Are you contradicting your teacher?"
"Only when he's WRONG," she replied caustically. "Just think about it logically, Mr. B. When the volume of a fixed amount of gas increases, the pressure HAS to decrease. You've got the same amount of gas in a larger space. Boyle's Law is that volume and pressure are INVERSELY proportional."
"Great," he thought silently to himself, "the little twerp has embarrassed me in front of the class once again."
Fuming, he said in his outer voice, "Miss Criswell, your logic is impeccable, but your attitude is dreadful. I simply misstated what I intended to say. But one more outburst like that, and you'll spend a week of lunches in detention."
The skinny blonde's saccharine smile turned to a scowl. A distinct pout caused her lower lip to protrude. She spat out a retort that only the kids seated near her could hear. Their laughter told Mr. Barry that the comment was none too flattering.
"That's it, Miss Criswell! No more lip. I want you to stay after class to discuss your punishment."
She muttered again, this time unintelligible to anyone in the vicinity.
Ten minutes later, as Mr. Barry finished describing their homework assignment, the bell signaled the end of 5th period. As the other students filed out, chattering and laughing, Tiffany remained behind, silent and stone-faced.
Mr. Barry pulled a chair up in front of the girl's desk.
"Tiffany, why do you have to keep yanking my chain?"
"I don't consider it to be 'yanking your chain'!" she blurted. "I just think a teacher should be more careful to teach things correctly. YOU'RE the one who should be in trouble, not ME!"
Mr. Barry was just about to the boiling point. His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared. She was pushing his buttons, and she knew it.
"Young lady, don't push me. I deserve far more respect than you're showing me now, or that you've shown me all year. You take that back or you'll regret it!"
"The only thing I regret is signing up for a chemistry class taught by a moron!" she spewed with venom.
David Barry had been sassed by this bespectacled, blonde-haired, blue-eyed brainiac one too many times. "That's it -- up you go, little witch! You're going to learn some manners!"
Tiffany's eyes grew wide as Mr. Barry moved toward her desk and towered over her. She felt a moment of panic, an instinct to run out the door. As she scurried up from her desk, her wrist was caught by Mr. Barry's firm grip.
Her desperate attempt to flee hurled her body circularly around the desk, her knee crashing into Mr. Barry's groin. He buckled from the impact. She crumpled in a heap on top of the desk.
David Barry was no longer thinking clearly. A year's worth of embarrassment from this brat had come to a head. Combine that with the physical injury to his manhood during her aborted escape -- these were the makings of a bad situation.
Without taking the time to count to ten and relax, Mr. Barry acted on his own instinct. He picked Tiffany up from the desk, sat down on the chair he had pulled over in front of it, and dropped her like a rag doll over his knee.
Tiffany was still limp when Mr. Barry said, "If you're going to act like a brat, you're going to get treated like a brat!"
With that, he cupped his large right hand and smacked Tiffany's taut rear-end with a stinging slap. Her body went immediately rigid, and a whimper escaped her lips. Even through her jeans, the spank made a sound loud enough to echo off the walls.
Twice more he lifted his hand and administered a slap across her rump. After the third spank, he pulled her up, glared into her eye, and said, "Had enough?"
Tiffany's mouth gaped open. She was silent for the better part of thirty seconds. The feistiness was gone; no sneering retort was left in her.
"Yes, Mr. B," she whispered.
"Well so have I!" he barked back at her, "no more sassing me in class, or there are plenty more where those came from!"
"Yes, Mr. B," she replied again.
"Good! Now get your little butt out of here, and don't make me smack it again!"
Tiffany grabbed her backpack and headed out the door. Mr. Barry watched her exit. He could have sworn she wiggled her ass just before she disappeared. "Just working out the sting, I'm sure," he thought to himself.
That night, David could barely sleep. "I'm gonna get fired," he kept thinking. "That little spitfire is going to have my job," he sulked.
It was a long night indeed. Back at school at 7AM, hair tousled and eyes bleary from exhaustion, David made a beeline for the teacher's lounge. He went directly to the coffee maker. As he was brewing the first pot, Principal Marklein entered the room.
"I need to see you in my office, Mr. Barry," Mr. Marklein rasped.
"Can I get a cup of java first?" enquired Mr. Barry, "I sort of need a shot of caffeine to get me going in the mornings."
"I don't think it can wait," said Mr. Marklein.
"Shit -- here it is!" thought Dave silently, "There goes my job!" Aloud, he said, "Be right there, sir!"
Principal Marklein left the room. Dave hesitated, then followed silently behind. All the way to the principal's office, Dave was trying to think of ways to deflect the hammer that was about to be dropped on him.
Tiffany was certainly out of line in disrespecting him, but corporal punishment had been banished from the school years ago, and teachers had never had the prerogative. Spanking had always been reserved for the principal.
Dave expected Tiffany's parents to be waiting for him in the principal's office -- waiting to pounce. He felt a wave of nausea in his stomach. "Suck it up," he thought, "take it like a man."
"Close the door," Mr. Marklein said after Dave walked into his office. Dave shut it gently. There was no one else besides the two of them in the room.
Mr. Marklein fixed a stern gaze on Dave, then raised an eyebrow.
"Mr. Barry, I have something serious to talk to you about," he began.
"Great," Dave thought, "lay it on me." Aloud he said, "Sir, let me start..."
