A motorcycle gang comprised on men in their fifties ascend up a local girls high school and introduce the Valedictorian to the wonders of anal intercourse on her 18th birthday. But a gorgeous student teacher spanks the defiance out of her and when she receives an acceptance letter to Harvard on graduation day, she thanks her guardian angel with a torrid weekend of violent lesbian sex. Very loosely based on the teenage years of Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
Jessie had been trouble from the jump, a lean-strung sparkplug with too much fire in her frown and too many miles on those skin-tight blue jeans. The old crowd she ran with left dents in the night—dented streetlamps, dented reputations, dented futures. But when she transferred to Good Girl High School, the town watched like it was waiting for a train wreck. They didn’t expect the plaid skirt. They didn’t expect the buzz cut. And they sure didn’t expect Jessie, the on-again, off-again menace of Sycamore Street, to rise up from the ashes of her past and snag valedictorian like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But the thing about old habits is they sit quiet only long enough to draw breath. By the time the ink dried on the letter from Harvard—fat envelope, no surprises—Jessie was already slipping back toward the shadows. And in those shadows waited Jonny M., a young hoodlum with a smile sharpened like a shiv and a talent for trouble that left even the cops muttering prayers. He wasn’t alone, either. His pug Boris padded along beside him, a squat little enforcer with a bark that carried farther than any bullet. Together they’d been terrorizing the town with their bad-boy routines, and Jessie, top of her class and golden-ticket bound, fell for Jonny like sin was gravity.
Miss Syntz noticed before anyone else. She always did. Gorgeous, yes—so much so even the PTA gossips held their breath when she walked by—but strict enough to freeze an earthquake mid-shake. She remembered Jessie’s first semester: the snarls, the confrontations, the wooden paddle hanging behind her desk like a promise. She’d had to spank the defiance out of the girl more than once, and Jessie had come out the other side something sharper, cleaner, stronger. Now Miss Syntz watched her brightest student drift back toward the abyss, and her knuckles grew white around the chalk she snapped in half.
The way Miss Syntz saw it, there was only one path left. She’d walked the straight and narrow so long it had grooves worn into her shoes, but if the only way to save Jessie’s future was to step into the gutter herself, then so be it. She’d trade her tidy bun for danger, her rulebook for recklessness, and show Jonny M. what a real bad girl looked like. And maybe—just maybe—steal him right out from under Jessie’s nose. In a town where futures were fragile and trouble had teeth, Miss Syntz was ready to bare her own.
