Lou stopped in her tracks, her face flushing. She hated to be called Louise, particularly by figures of authority (and even more particularly by figures of authority with mullets).
“It’s Lou.” She turned around, hands on hips, to face the front of the room.
“Do you have a note?” Mr. Swank turned as well, crossing his arms over his billboard-size chest.
Reaching down to pick up a non-existent skirt, Lou curtsied. "My apologies, I neglected to ask for one. Please forgive me."
“No need for groveling, I’ll just mark this as a demerit.”
Lou put up her hands in surrender: “Whoa, calm down, Father Brown. We started off on the wrong foot. Cut me some slack on the first day. Let’s put this behind us, shall we?”
Mr. Swank considered this for a moment before nodding. “Fair enough. But this is your only warning.”
“Roger that.” Lou saluted Mr. Swank and turned on one foot to join me in the back. “Hey Duke,” she said to me as she slid into her seat.
“Smooth entrance,” I greeted her.
“Louise? Duke?” Mr. Swank asked.
“It’s Lou,” both she and I answered.