These two have a reputation that precedes them across the entire campus—the kind of notoriety built on spray paint, stolen mascots, and pranks that escalate every single week. Tonight the chaos finally caught up with them, and now Chloe Rose and Serena Hill are standing in my office in costumes that leave almost nothing to the imagination, grinning like the whole thing is a game they expect to win. Trust me, I noticed—and not just the mess they left behind. So I lay out their options plainly: expulsion, or enrollment in my brat-taming program, where the rules are mine and obedience isn’t optional. They don’t even let me finish before the costumes start coming off, straps sliding down shoulders, fabric pooling on the floor. One gets bent over my desk without being told, and the other just watches, biting her lip, waiting her turn like a good girl in training. By midnight the defiance is gone entirely—nothing left but two brats moaning “yes, sir” like it’s the only phrase they remember.
