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The first Monday of the new semester arrived not with a whisper, but with a declaration.
Posters lined the wrought-iron gates of Constance Billard by 7 a.m., plastered across bulletin boards, lockers, even on the side of Headmistress Burton's reserved parking sign. Thick cream paper, gold foil trim, and in the center: Monet de Haan's face. Regal. Unapologetic. Above her in serif font read:
NEW RULES OR NEW SCHOOL. YOUR CHOICE. — M.D.H.
Below it was a bulleted list:
- Skirts below the knee.
- No phones in the courtyard.
- No unapproved lunch deliveries.
- Class hierarchy reinstated. (Freshmen will not speak to Seniors unless spoken to.)
- Detentions doubled for violations of tone or appearance.
- Gossip Girl remains off-limits. Unless it's in your favor.
"Subtle," Pippa had murmured earlier that morning, watching Monet's face printed in triplicate above the central staircase.
"That wasn't the goal," Monet replied, her heels echoing on marble.
Constance had always been performative. "Progressive" by committee, yet terrified of any real change. Monet wasn't interested in their fear of power. She wanted the power itself—and she was done asking nicely.
As she made her entrance through the front doors, a hush fell. Students looked up from their phones. Teachers paused in mid-conversation.
Bianca, two steps behind, hissed low in Monet's ear, "That's three gasps and one nearly dropped latte already."
"Keep counting," Monet said with a smile.
She paused before the mirror beside the Dean's office, adjusted her custom Saint Laurent collar, and admired the reflection: crisp blouse, pleated navy skirt, velvet headband. If they wanted tradition, she'd weaponize it.
A freshman—Maya something—attempted to rush past. Monet held out a hand. "Slow down. Who are you?"
Maya froze. "Um. Maya Darzi. I'm—I'm in chorus."
"Not anymore," Monet said coolly. "Running in halls is unbecoming. Go join P.E."
As the girl scurried away, Monet turned to Bianca. "See? A little structure goes a long way."
Bianca grinned. "You're terrifying."
Monet raised a brow. "I'm effective."
In the teacher's lounge, murmurs had already started. Headmistress Burton was overheard asking if anyone had approved the flyers. (They hadn't.) The history department argued over the legality of implementing an honor code with no due process. Mr. Goldsmith tried to talk about the Geneva Conventions, and was promptly asked to leave.
