You remembered that you had your first day of school today. Even though you were only three inches tall, you were still able to get an education at the local technical college. You were practicing to become a chef. The college was aware of your situation and assured safety. With everyone still asleep, you made your way to the college. By the time you got there it was eight twenty and class was about to begin. You hurried to your cooking class and was greeted by Miss Harris, the teacher. She was 30 years old and had medium brown hair, cool green eyes, the body of a goddess, and a strict attitude. With a gentle hand she picked you up and introduced herself to you and introduced you to the class. It was a small class, only about six students including you. The rest of the class was all female.
After the introductions, Miss Harris placed you at your workspace, which was between a good looking brunet with blue eyes and a tall black haired beauty with an attitude both appeared around 19. Miss Harris then began class by asking the students to create a dish, any dish, to use as a benchmark. As usual, you were at a disadvantage with your height. You tried to assemble a dish but as time expired you had nothing. “Well, Sam,” Miss Harris said, “it looks like you failed to put together anything. I hope you can improve.” You tired to assure her you could but she didn’t buy it. “I need to make a statement that failure isn’t an option.” She continued, “Do you know what I am going to do?” You had no idea but you knew it wasn’t good as Miss Harris picked you up and brought you to face level.
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