Tea with the Headmistress

Tara had never been inside the Headmistress's office before. The door was the colour of polished apples and the brass handle was so bright it looked freshly invented. She knocked, very small, with one knuckle.

"Come in, Tara," called a voice that sounded a great deal less terrifying than Tara had been expecting.

Mrs Akinola was sitting behind a desk that was much too tidy. On it stood a single white teapot, two cups, a pot of honey, and a small dish of biscuits. There was no register, no clipboard, no pencil case full of bright red pens.

"I thought we might have tea," said Mrs Akinola. "Sit down. The chair won't bite — it's only mahogany."

Tara sat. She had been expecting trouble — she had been so sure of it that she had spent her entire break rehearsing apologies — and now she did not know what to do with her hands.

"I read your story," said Mrs Akinola, pouring. "The one about the fox. Mr Carter passed it on to me. He thought I should see it. He was right."

Tara looked up. "Was it… was something wrong with it?"

"Wrong?" Mrs Akinola laughed, gently. "No, child, nothing was wrong with it. Something was very right with it. I should like, if you will let me, to read it aloud to the school in assembly on Friday."

The biscuit Tara had been holding fell quietly back onto the dish. The honey, in its pot, caught a square of sunlight and held it. Tara had practised many things for this morning, but she had not practised this.