Cheers Redone

Prompt: Write your own version of Cheers, the short story handed out in class.

My feet don't quite touch the ground, and my heels hit the chair as I swing them back and forth. This sort of behavior will not be tolerated, says the mouth that is lecturing me yet again. Four inches below the mouth is the high collar of a severe black wool dress, even though September is at its hottest. I was a young girl once, too, she says, but I don't believe her. The skin that is dry and cracking and doing its best to hold her bones in place couldn't possibly ever have been younger than ancient. We have rules at this Girl's Academy for a reason. I've heard this before, and my young eyes wander from her arched eyebrows and rumpled forehead to the walls of her office that are bare except for a picture of pink tulips and a calendar that is still turned to August. Our actions have consequences, I am reminded, and I look down at the wooden desk that must be as old as she is. It bristles with splinters just waiting to jump into your palm, and it has never been painted. You should be grateful for the chance to receive an education, and my gaze returns to her face, because I am not sure if she is serious. It is such an odd statement to a girl who would rather be running barefoot on the seashore and who wants to be a gypsy when she grows up. Her grey eyes focus on mine, and I stop moving. I look away, uncomfortable, then at her again. She has deep lines around her mouth. Laugh lines, my mother called them, before she died. Laugh lines can be trusted. There, says the headmistress, are duties that must be fulfilled. She looks as if she has never laughed at all, and yet also as if she laughs every day. Do you understand? She looks at me for my answer, and I nod. I almost smile, because now I understand more than I did.