“New student,” Beouf called over the stroller.

“Yeah…I figured.”

Mrs. Beouf put on the stroller’s breaks and walked around. She took a knee and looked him in the eye. “Chazz, right?” The kid nodded. “I’m Mrs. Beouf. I’m gonna be your teacher for the rest of the year. Okay?” Chazz said nothing. There was a pacifier clipped on to his shirt likely the kind where the little rubber bulb inflated so that a Little couldn’t remove it on their own.

Chazz recoiled when she took the pacifier. He looked confused when she unhooked it and put it in her back pocket. “You can have this at nap time if you want it. But until then, it stays with me, okay?” The guy spit in her face. Beouf didn’t even blink as the saliva dripped off her glasses.

Fun fact: Beouf had just screwed Chazz over and he might not even have known it. A gag, spanking, or additional restraints would have allowed Chazz to scream his head off and feel (and to other Littles at least, look) justified. Now his options were to either keep fighting and screaming and be written off as a “fussy baby”, or to keep his temper and seem complacent in his treatment.

“Chazz is already soaking wet,” I heard Beouf tell Zoge. “You take the others to the cafeteria. I’m going to stop by our room and change him.”

Mrs. Zoge nodded and had Ivy start leading the way; an entire pack of Littles all waddling like good baby boys and girls to get spoon fed their breakfast. If they were lucky they might get to play with finger foods. Chazz’s screams went noted by the other Amazons, who just clucked their tongue and made loud remarks to everyone in earshot, including their students, how someone got up on the wrong side of the crib and was super cranky.

Damnit. Not that I blamed the guy, but we were at decidedly cross purposes just then.

“That’s everyone,” Tracy told me when all of my students got off the bus. Thank god. My students got in line, no hand holding required. I’d weaned them off of that. I gave the Amazon pre-schooler in the back of the line a hug and then noticed the wet spot on her jeans.

I waved Tracy over and cupped my hand to her ear as she bent over. “Natasha’s had an accident…again.”

My assistant let out a sigh. “Again?” She stood back up and moved Natasha to the middle of the line. Physical camouflage. Spare the girl some grief.

“Do you think she has any spare clothes in her backpack?”

“Checking…” Tracy said. Followed by a, “No sir.”

I frowned. “Clinic probably doesn’t have any spare undies, either.”

Tracy shook her head. “Nope.” How was I going to keep this kid out of diapers? “Don’t worry,” she said. “I went and bought some spares as soon as we got her parents to take away the Pull-Ups.”

I was genuinely touched. “Tracy,” I said. “you know you didn’t have to do that.”

She beamed at me. It was a smug, know-it-all expression. “I know.”

I exhaled. Darn it. I just couldn’t get mad at her. “Alright then, class,” I said. “Elmer, lead us to our room.” And off we went. Me walking right beside Elmer, with Tracy taking up the rear lest any of our students fall behind.

We didn’t eat breakfast in the cafeteria. We ate in our classroom. A cart of single serving cereals, milk cartons and fruit was always left just outside our door by the cooking staff. I’d managed to convince Brollish (with Mrs. Beouf’s help) that it’d be better for my students to start their day eating breakfast in my room so that they could be closer to a toilet. Fewer accidents and less embarrassment if they had one.

In reality, it was mostly because I couldn’t stand the cafeteria.