Miss Davis taught literature at Westbridge Prep when I was there.
Fresh out of uni, she looked about twenty. Always wore long white dresses. Thick brown braids. Smelled like toner and rosemary. Carried a canvas tote with busted straps and wrote in red pen, not green like the others.
She wasn't scared of Isobel Brooke.
The other teachers acted like they couldn't see a girl getting shoved into lockers. Miss Davis dragged Isobel into her office every other week and gave her a talking-to.
It didn't stop everything, but it kept Isobel on a shorter leash.
When I reported Isobel to the police, the school freaked out.
Only one teacher backed me up.
The rest kept their mouths shut and stuck to the script: 'Just kids being kids.'
The case was dropped after my parents took t
