And Miss Raquel? She retired last spring. At the faculty party, someone handed her a scrapbook of thank-you notes from former students. Most were saccharine. One, handwritten on thick cream paper, read: Dear Miss Raquel, You taught me that rules are only as strong as the people enforcing them. Thank you for being so breakable. Cordially, Freya von Doom (formerly the girl with the sideways bean plant).
By fifth grade, Miss Raquel had transferred to the middle school—a coincidence Freya suspected was less about scheduling and more about self-preservation. But the damage, if it can be called that, was done. Freya von Doom—the "von" she added herself, because every good supervillain needs a superfluous aristocratic particle—had found her calling. She would not fight the system. She would exploit its loopholes. She would not break the rules. She would interpret them so literally that they collapsed under their own weight. miss raquel and freya von doom
"I don’t know," Freya whispered. But she did know. The rules were a cage, and Miss Raquel was the zookeeper. And Miss Raquel
She never did figure out whether it was a threat or a thank-you. And that, Freya knew, was the point. Most were saccharine