The wedding anniversary fuller and more detailed more scenes of Ella’s full humiliation includes a prequel as well

[Revengedpirate]

Ella stood motionless by the wall outside Room 3B, her arms locked around her middle, the hallway around her gradually filling with students as the bell rang, sharp and final. The start of Lesson 1. Everyone moved with purpose — bags slung over shoulders, schedules in hand — but Ella stayed fixed, like someone had nailed her shoes to the floor.

Her legs felt like jelly. Her face still burned from the moment she wished had never happened — the moment her own voice had betrayed her.

“I hate being in here. Everyone looks at me like I smell… I wish I was invisible or pretty like Kelly…”

She hadn’t even meant to share it. It had just spilled out, raw and messy and human. And he’d made her read it aloud like a punishment.

“Now maybe you’ll think twice about throwing pity parties during tutor.”

Her throat tightened again just remembering it. The note wasn’t even meant to be seen. Not really. Just something to pass under the desk — just a thought. A feeling.

A voice broke through the hum of students.

“Ella.”

It was Leah, pushing through the flow of bodies in the corridor, her braid swinging as she rushed to her.

“He wants to see you,” she said quietly. “Mr. Leonard. He told me to send you back in.”

Ella stared at her.

“Is he still mad?” she asked, though she didn’t know what kind of answer she was hoping for.

Leah hesitated. “Just… go. I don’t think it’s about talking. I think it’s about control.”

Ella nodded slowly. Her limbs felt stiff as she turned back toward the classroom door she’d stormed out of only ten minutes earlier.

She knocked once. Then pushed it open.

Mr. Leonard was still at the front, his arms crossed over a stack of papers. The room was empty now — students long gone. He didn’t sit. He didn’t ask her to.

“You don’t walk out of my room without permission,” he said without preamble. “I don’t care how upset you are.”

Ella’s voice caught. “You made me—”

“You embarrassed yourself,” he interrupted. “And you disrupted the group. You’re not five years old, Ella. You don’t get to sulk and storm out like a toddler.”

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice level. “You humiliated me.”

“You wrote the note,” he said. “You passed it. You read it. Actions have consequences.”

There was no anger in his tone. Just that measured, clipped disapproval that somehow cut deeper.

“Breaktime,” he continued. “Room 1C. You’ll serve your detention there. Do not be late.”

She didn’t argue. She just nodded, barely. Her voice had gone somewhere else — out of reach.

“You can go,” he said, already turning back to his desk.

Ella slipped out of Room 3B, the corridor now nearly empty.

Ten minutes into her school day.

And already, the day had decided who she was going to be.

[Somebody]

Man, that was heavy and really made me feel for the poor girl. Do people really not understand that teens, or anyone really, aren't going to be at their best when they haven't slept? That teacher was a jerk and his lesson felt weirdly 1984. But also who names two of their kids Alessia and Ella? That's just irresponsible. I just want to scoop up Ella and take her to a better setting lol.

[Legoman2]

Can’t wait for the real humiliation to start wonder what going to be first pantsing or Kelly having some fun with Ella in the locker room or detention

[Revengedpirate]

The real humiliation is coming I’m just going into a little more depth and detail about the main characters. It’s only Monday got a long way to go before Saturday and the party.
But I’m glad the characters are starting to build

[Legoman2]

Can’t wait

[Revengedpirate]

Ella walked the second-floor corridor with her head down, bag slung over one shoulder. She wasn’t running — just walking fast enough not to be obviously late.

The spiral stairwell from Room 3B to 2A had taken less than two minutes. On the way down, she’d passed the usual dumb posters: “Stop Pantsing, Start Prancing” with cartoon dancers in their underwear, and that weird one with a stick figure holding a fig leaf: “Naked Isn’t a Costume — Even on Book Day.” She didn’t laugh, but they distracted her enough not to think too hard.

Still, Mr. Leonard making her read the note out loud in form time stuck in her mind.
“I wish I was invisible or pretty like Kelly…”
She’d meant to pass it quietly. Instead, the whole room heard it.

Whatever. She was over it. Sort of.

She turned into the east corridor. Sunlight pooled across the polished floor. Room 2A came into view.

9:24. Not that late.

She tugged her jumper down, fixed the strap of her bag, and pushed open the door. Her eyes were still slightly stinging, but she kept her face blank.

No one needed to know how much it got to her.

[Revengedpirate]

Ella Cooper pushed open the door to English, four minutes late.

Not dramatically late. Not worth a detention. But just enough to make everyone look.

The room fell into a hush—the kind of silence that prickled your skin and made your chest tighten. Twenty-nine heads turned. One teacher didn’t.

Mr. Travers, hunched over his desk with a blue pen tucked behind one ear, didn’t even glance up. “You’re late,” he said flatly, still writing the register.

Ella froze for a heartbeat, caught in the quiet like a spotlight had snapped onto her. She swallowed. The hush grew heavier, the weight of dozens of eyes pinning her in place.

“She was busy basking in the fame from form group,” Kelly’s sharp voice cut through, sugar-coated but venomous.

“I’m the prettiest girl in the year,” Kelly sang mockingly, “as approved by Ella.”

Soft chuckles rippled around the room.

Ella’s cheeks flamed a harsh red. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor and hurried to her seat in the middle row, her heart hammering like a trapped bird. Every step felt like walking a tightrope.

Hannah Bridges glanced up as Ella passed—not with malice, but with that quietly scathing disapproval that could freeze you in place. Everything about Hannah was perfect: her tie sat flush against her buttoned collar, her pleated skirt crisply ironed, her pens colour-coded and lined up as though their order held the secrets to the universe. She sat like an exam-ready statue, posture impeccable, a rival sharpening her claws in silence.

Ella slumped beside her, sleeves pulled over her palms, bag slipping to the floor at her feet. She wished she could disappear — fade into the beige linoleum or the pale walls.

“Maybe next time write about how you’re always smelling because you’re sprinting between lessons,” Hannah whispered, sharp and cold, like an icy breeze sliding down Ella’s spine.

Mr. Travers finally looked up. “Good of you to join us, Miss Cooper. Would you like a spotlight and entrance music next time?”

The class snickered, a low ripple of amusement that made Ella’s skin crawl.

She blinked, swallowed, and muttered, “Sorry.”

“Poetry anthology. Page sixty-three. Blake,” he said. “And if anyone speaks out of turn today, you’ll annotate every copy of The Tyger in the library.”

He stood slowly, tall and tired, pacing the front of the room with the air of a man who’d long given up on enthusiasm but hadn’t yet given in.

Behind Ella, the usual classroom noises stirred — a textbook thudded, a pencil case zipped, a whisper rose too loudly.

Then —

A metallic clang shattered the quiet.

Erin O’Connell had dropped her water bottle. Again.

“Sorry! Sorry!” she gasped, hair tumbling over her flushed, freckled face as she scrambled beneath her desk like a startled hare.

Nathan Perry, sitting beside her, bent down at the same moment. Their heads collided with a dull thunk.

“Ow! Oh god—sorry! I didn’t mean to—oh.”

Nathan winced, then smiled gently. “It’s okay. Still alive, right?”

Their faces hovered inches apart. Her bright green eyes caught his pale blue ones for a second that felt like a secret shared between two shy strangers.

Erin’s skirt caught on the chair leg and was yanked into the air slightly revealing her cartoon panties. As the chair legs came back down Erin’s skirt came down to her ankles with it. Before she could react, the skirt pooled on the floor beneath the chair. In her surprise, Erin stumbled backward and sat down abruptly—right on the chair—as Nathan bent down to lift it.

The chair with Erin’s weight added to it fell suddenly and landed heavily on Nathan’s hand, pinning it under the leg. Erin’s skirt remained tangled as Nathan gritted his teeth but kept hold of the chair.

With a grunt, Nathan lifted the chair—and Erin, still sitting on it—off his hand. Erin Losing her balance, Erin started to fall backward, but Nathan acted fast. With his left hand, he caught the fallen skirt from the floor, and with his right, he grabbed hold of Erin’s left ankle.

Upside down in just her pants and socks and off balance, Nathan skillfully pulled the skirt back over Erin’s waist. Using both hands now, he lifted her into a proper carry, her arms thrown up in the air as if it were all part of a performance.

Erin landed gracefully back in her seat, perfectly dressed as if nothing had happened.

Both their faces flushed deep red.


The class erupted into laughter.

“When you two are done with your double act,” Mr. Travers drawled, voice dry, “unless you’re re-enacting the Charge of the Light Brigade, kindly remain seated.”

“Y-yes, sir,” they stammered together, cheeks aflame.

Mr. Travers offered a small, almost imperceptible smile. Ella watched from her seat, clutching her pen like a lifeline. She couldn’t decide what was worse — Erin’s charming chaos or the fact she still somehow looked endearing doing it.

“Alright,” Mr. Travers said. “Who’ll read some Blake aloud? Volunteers?”

Silence.

“Fine. Ella. Board.”

Her stomach sank to her knees.

“What?”

“Annotate stanza two on the screen — imagery, structure. Warm-up exercise.”

Slowly, she rose. Every step felt amplified in her ears, knees knocking uncontrollably, anthology in one hand, the other shoved deep in her jumper sleeve.

The interactive board glared at her like an interrogator.

Ella raised the stylus, circling words nervously.

“In what distant deeps or skies…” she mumbled.

From behind, Kelly’s voice slithered out, mocking sweetly, “Oh, doesn’t she annotate so well.”

Maya snorted quietly.

Ella’s pulse thundered in her ears.

She glanced sideways, eyes on the screen. “So this line shows… um… duality? Like fear and beauty. Heaven and Hell.”

“Pretty, and ugly,” Kelly added, just loud enough for the whole class to hear.

Laughter rippled around the room. Ella’s cheeks burned. She spun sharply back to the board.

At the front, Imogen sat at the teacher’s desk, watching like a cat ready to pounce.

Ella brushed past her as she approached.

Suddenly, Imogen’s fingers darted out and tugged sharply at a tie on Ella’s skirt.

Ella’s skirt caught on the finger and twisted tightly, wrapping itself around Imogen’s hand.

Unluckily for Ella, the string had looped tightly around Imogen’s fingers during Ella’s sharp turn. The skirt was no longer around Ella’s waist but stuck to Imogen’s grip.

A stunned silence dropped like a stone.

Ella felt a sudden cold breeze hit her legs.

She froze.

Looking down, she saw her granny pants and knee-high socks fully exposed to the merciless glare of the projector light.

Laughter exploded — wild, cruel, unforgiving.

Imogen tugged desperately at the string still wrapped around her fingers. With no choice, she pulled a pair of scissors from her bag and cut the skirt’s ties. The skirt was ruined.

For one agonising second, Ella stood there, her school shirt too high to hide the pale granny pants fully visible, the flicker of the projector casting an unforgiving spotlight.

Whispers, laughter, even camera phones—hidden flashes capturing her humiliation.

Mr. Travers barked, “Enough!”

Ella yanked her shirt’s hem down, turning it into a makeshift dress, though the edges of her pants peeked out awkwardly.

“Sit down,” he snapped.

Ella rushed back to her desk, heart pounding like a frantic drum, promising herself she wouldn’t cry.

Mr. Travers calmly picked up the ruined skirt from the floor. His eyes blazed with silent fury.

“Detention, Miss Imogen Smith,” he said firmly, voice cold.

He placed the torn skirt on Ella’s desk, then turned on his heel, walking back to the front.

Kelly bit her lip, clearly struggling not to laugh.

Nathan looked away, jaw clenched.

Hannah’s expression flickered—half amused, half horrified.

Erin’s eyes widened, mouth slightly parted in shock.

Mr. Travers’s voice cut through the simmering chaos again, clipped and biting.

“Miss Cooper, see the nurse. Maybe she’ll have a spare skirt. And next time, perhaps something less embarrassing underneath. Like—ah—a nappy.”

The class erupted into uncontrollable laughter as Ella fled the room.

The door slammed behind her.

“Stanza three. Erin. Go.”

Erin’s voice trembled as she read, “And what shoulder, and what art, could twist the sinews of thy heart…”

The classroom buzzed with aftershocks.

Ella ran down the corridor, tugging her blouse lower, hands stuffed into her sleeves, wishing desperately to vanish.

Not pretty.

Not invisible.

Just… not here.

⸻

Back in the classroom, barely a minute had passed before another commotion stirred.

Nathan, trying to recover from the embarrassment, knocked his water bottle over — sending a splash of cold water skimming across the desk and soaking the open poetry anthology in front of Hannah.

Hannah gasped, pushing the soaked pages away like they’d bitten her.

“Seriously, Nathan?” she snapped, glaring daggers.

Nathan’s cheeks darkened. “Sorry, Hannah. Clumsy today, I guess.”

Erin gave a helpless laugh. “At least you’re consistent.”

The class chuckled nervously.

Mr. Travers pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, everyone, settle down. Let’s just focus on Blake and maybe keep the water in the bottles this time.”