Monica hoped under her breath that she was wrong about whoever it was behind her, but when she turned around, she found that it really was Mr. Lindbergs, her history teacher.
Mrs. Lindberg was an old woman in her sixties, she was an extremely modest dresser, as expected of a woman of her age, and had a look on her face as if she'd seen a ghost.
"What on earth are you doing?" she exclaimed, and quickly remembered "and why aren't you in class, young lady?"
Monica was stuttering, she had to think of some reason of why she's out here in the parking lot, the explanation about her clothes would have to wait, she looked down at her shoes in embarrassment, and had an idea.
"Oh, I- ah, I was trying to buckle up my shoes," Monica tried to sound convincing, and she hoped Mrs. Lindberg would buy it "it had come undone and I didn't want to constantly trip over myself."
Mrs. Lindberg didn't really seem to buy it, but she didn't inquire any further. "Well anyways, I want you back in school this instant, and I'm going to make sure you get there personally.
Monica's heart sunk, there went her only chance at escaping, as she began walking back to the building with the teacher, Mrs. Lindberg quickly scanned over her and commented with disdain:"And I'm going to have you report to the Principal's office about your choice in attire."
Just great, and it just so happens that your first lesson is:
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