There have been a lot of stories that tell how boys learn to become better people by being sent to a "special" school. There are some things about those kinds of stories I didn't like much, so I decided to create my own version of this particular sub-genre. Enjoy!

Madam Martinique's Finishing School

Copyright 2007 by Heather Rose Brown
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"Discipline. Respect. Honesty." The head mistress's riding crop snapped sharply as it hit each word on the marble plaque behind her desk. Her eyes seemed hard as diamonds as she turned to look at my mother. "Those are the three pillars upon which our school are based."

"I ... I mean ... umm. ..." Hearing Mother stutter and seeing her squirm in the hard, wooden chair next to mine made me smile. It was a small victory, but it was nice to hear her at a loss for words after the speech she had given me on the way to this so called 'school'.

"And what are you finding so amusing?" As uncomfortable as my seat was, I was really glad I was sitting just then, because my knees went all wobbly when the Madam Martinique glared at me.

"Erm ... nothin'." I stared at the floor, looking for the tiniest hole so I could slip into it and disappear.

" 'Nothing' what?"

"Nothin' ... Ma'm?"

The head mistress sighed. "I suppose that will do for now, but I see some lessons in grammar and pronunciation in your future." I know this probably sounds impossible, but I could actually feel her eyes lift off me and I looked up again to see her turn to my mother. "But, getting back to my original point, are those three principles something you would like your child to learn?"

Mother seemed to have managed to pull herself together and there was no stuttering this time as she answered. "Yes. Those are exactly the things Willamina needs to learn." For the first time since this morning when she had announced there were going to be some major changes in my life, which wound up including me wearing my sister's dress, there was a sadness in her voice. "They're things I haven't been able to teach her."

Madam Martinique's voice softened. "That is why you need to sign those papers. Without full custody, we cannot fully implement our program."

"It does seem extreme." The hardness was back in Mother's voice. "But with all the trouble my s-- daughter has been getting into since her father died, I suppose extreme measures are called for."

The head mistress seemed to float down as she sat in her huge leather chair. "I understand your position. Most parents have run out of options by the time they come to us." She looked through the stack of forms lying in front of her, then turned them around and slid them across the desk towards my mother. "I can assure you, you made the right choice by coming to our school."

I felt the tiniest bit of hope when Mother stared at the paper on top of the stack for a few seconds. When she picked up the pen and started signing, my heart dropped into my stomach. My own mother was handing me over to strangers who would do ... I really didn't know exactly what. I wanted to stand up and scream at her, but I was too numb. All hope, all life just drained out of me as I listened to the pen scritching across bright white sheets of paper filled with tiny print.

As my mother signed the last page, Madam Martinique pressed one of a long row of buttons on her phone, then lifted up the handset and began speaking softly. "Jessica, would you come into my office? Mrs. Sundry is just about ready to leave and will need someone to guide her to the guest parking lot."

Mother looked up from the pile of forms, mouth hanging open in shock. "Do I have to leave so soon? I haven't even had a chance to say goodbye."

The head mistress gently took the stack of papers from Mother's loose grip. "We usually find it best to keep partings very brief. Otherwise, emotional outbursts can --"

I didn't hear the rest of what she said as my mother turned to me and touched my cheek. "I'm so sorry things have to be like this. I hope ... someday you will be able to understand and forgive me."

The shock that had been holding me down was burned away by white hot rage. "Forgive? FORGIVE?! What's there to forgive?" I jumped up, knocking my chair over backwards. "You just dressed me up like some damn sissy and then handed me over to some 'school' that's gonna turn me into -- how the hell should I know?"

The sharp crack of Madam Martinique's riding crop smacking the top of her desk made me jump. "I will NOT tolerate such language!" Somehow, she seemed even bigger as she leaned over her desk. "Now, you will pick up your chair, sit down, and behave properly." Her gaze shifted to my now former mother. "You will need to leave now before things get out of hand."

I turned, faced the fallen chair, and squeezed my fists until my nails were cutting into my palms. "No!" I shouted as I kicked at it. I got a throbbing big toe for my efforts, but it felt good to see the chair tumbling across the room. I swung around on my good foot until I was facing the head mistress. "You ain't my mother. I ain't gotta do what you tell me." I turned on Mother. "You gave up being my mother, so I ain't gotta do what you tell me neither! And ... and, I'm leaving this hell hole!"

I half ran and half hobbled towards a pair of heavy wood doors. Just as I reached for the handle, one of the doors swung open and a girl about a head taller than me entered. Hoping to catch her by surprise, I ducked and tried slipping between her and the open doorway. She was faster than I expected and grabbed me around the waist, pinning my arms to my sides in the process. "Where do you think you're running off to, young lady?"

The laughter in her voice just made me madder. "Let me go! Let me GO!"

Just as I was starting get an arm loose, Madam Martinique took me off the girl and managed to hold me more tightly, then surprised me by swinging my legs off the ground. With the way she was holding me, all I could move were my feet, so I began kicking for all I was worth. Right about then, the tears I'd been trying to hold back began pouring, and I started crying and screaming.

Over my screams I heard the head mistress shout, "Thank you, Jessica. Could remove our newest students shoes, then lead Mrs. Sundry out? That would help a lot." I felt my legs held in a tight grip, and in a few seconds I was shoeless.

As Jessica led my former mother out of the room, an older woman in a white uniform stepped in. "I heard the shouting and thought you could use some help."

Madam Martinique pulled my leg back in just when I was starting to wriggle it loose. "Yes, things got a bit out of hand near the end of the interview."

"I see. Should I administer a sedative?"

"Yes, I think that would be best."

When I saw the needle, I pretty much freaked out and started screaming at the top of my lungs. "Help! Help! HELLLLLP!" I tried harder to get loose, but I could still barely move. Something was rubbed on my arm, leaving a cool spot that ached a moment later when it was pricked with something. I was already exhausted from struggling; whatever was in the needle made me even more tired. Just as my eyes started to droop, I felt lips brush against my forehead and heard the head mistress whisper, "Everything will be okay. I promise."

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When I was able to open my eyes again and get them to focus, I saw Madam Martinique sitting straight and tall in a chair at the foot of my bed. She looked up from a thick paperback and gave me a tiny smile. "Good afternoon. How do you feel?"

I tried sitting up, but the room started spinning when I lifted my head and I nearly lost what little breakfast I had managed to choke down this morning. "I feel like shit."

The head mistress frowned, but her smile didn't completely fade. "Considering you're a new student and haven't had the rules of acceptable conduct explained to you yet, I'll let the language go this time. However, in the future, you'll be expected to hold a civil tongue."

I tried sitting up again. Some of the anger I was feeling before came back and seemed to cut through the dizziness. "And how do you plan to make me do that? You gonna beat it into me?"

Some of the hardness left her gray eyes. "Were you beaten before?"

"I ... I mean ... what's it matter to you?"

Her shoulders drooped as if they had been carrying something too heavy for too long. "A disturbing number of students have. So, to answer your question, we do not use any form of corporal punishment at this school. We've found the harm far outweighs any potential benefits."

It took me a couple of seconds before I figured out what she meant by corporal punishment. "So, how do you get 'em to do stuff then?"

"By teaching discipline, respect, and honesty."

"Discipline? I thought you said nobody got beat here."

The head mistress slowly shook her head. "So many people seem to misunderstand that word. Discipline is the process by which one learns to behave in a socially acceptable manner. While punishment may be used to teach discipline, it is only one of many ways. As I said before, we do not use corporal punishment. When any other form of punishment is used, it will only be after you fully understand what is expected as well as the consequences."

I looked down at myself and realized I was still wearing a dress. "So you keep us in line by making us dress and act like girls?"

When I looked up, I saw her shaking her head again. "No, not any more. There was a time when that was practiced at this school, but it was found to cause severe emotional and even mental harm to many of our students, so it was discontinued."

I chewed on that new piece of information for a minute. "You mean, not all the boys were hurt by being dressed like girls?"

"An astute observation. At first, when we stopped forcing our students to dress like girls and provided clothing appropriate for boys, we discovered some of them had held onto and were still secretly wearing the old clothes."

"Why would they do that if they could get to wear boy clothes again?"

"When we found out about it, we asked them, and discovered some of them simply liked dressing like girls, while others identified as girls. That's when we decided to allow our students to wear what they wish, so long as it is clean, modest, and appropriate for whatever activity and weather conditions in which they might find themselves." She carefully laid her book on the ground and folder her hands in her lap. "Knowing that, do you have a clothing preference?"

At first I almost blurted out a yes, but then I smoothed the skirt of my sister's dress over my thighs and thought about the first time I had worn it. It had been a few months after she had gone away to college when I found a box of the clothes she used to wear when she was my age, and decided to try the dress on. It didn't make me feel like a girl, but it did feel nice. In a way, it made me feel closer to the one person who seemed to really know me. "Will I hafta give away my sister's dress?"

Her soft chuckle seemed to fill the tiny room we were in with warmth. "Of course not, but you will eventually need something else to change into." She stood up and held out a hand. "If you follow me, I'll lead you to the commissary, and you can choose whatever you like."

I took her hand and nearly landed on my butt as I slid off the bed. She helped me get my footing and waited until the wooziness passed and I could stand on my own. I looked up and saw so many things in her face. She looked both stern and kind; she seemed friendly, but not mushy. I wasn't sure how much I really believed her and what she said about this school, but I decided to trust her enough to believe she would take me someplace to get clothes.

She led me out into a hall that was so quiet, it was almost eerie. I decided that if I was going to run away, it would probably be a good idea to have a change of clothes and get some idea where to find food. Setting escape plans to the back of my mind, I put on what I hoped looked like a friendly smile as I did my best to keep up with the fast pace set by Madam Martinique.