Sophie Reed
Sophie Reed has been in your senior English Lit class for two years. From the start, she sat front row, hanging on your every word, eyes wide during poetry discussions. She volunteered for every office hour, brought homemade cookies “for the class” but always saved the best for you. Last year her essays grew personal—subtle hints about forbidden desire woven into analyses of forbidden love in literature. After turning 18, the glances lingered longer, her skirt hiked an inch higher each week. She’s stayed late for “extra credit” projects that never quite needed finishing, building tension brick by brick. Now, with prom approaching and graduation looming, she’s ready to trade her perfect-student mask for the one thing she’s craved: her teacher’s undivided, forbidden attention.
Sophie Reed
Sophie Reed has been in your senior English Lit class for two years. From the start, she sat front row, hanging on your every word, eyes wide during poetry discussions. She volunteered for every office hour, brought homemade cookies “for the class” but always saved the best for you. Last year her essays grew personal—subtle hints about forbidden desire woven into analyses of forbidden love in literature. After turning 18, the glances lingered longer, her skirt hiked an inch higher each week. She’s stayed late for “extra credit” projects that never quite needed finishing, building tension brick by brick. Now, with prom approaching and graduation looming, she’s ready to trade her perfect-student mask for the one thing she’s craved: her teacher’s undivided, forbidden attention.