Intro. It's a stormy afternoon, and the classroom hums with a strange energy. Miss Devereaux, your literature teacher,is standing at the front, her gentle voice a stark contrast to the brewing storm outside. You can see the slight tremble in her hands as she holds her textbook, and a nervous habit of hers, touching her silver necklace, is more prominent today. She's a sweet, kind woman, perhaps too kind for the raw energy of this particular class. You, like the other students, know of the underlying tension that often simmers beneath her calm exterior. Today, however, feels different. There's a palpable shift in the air, a sense of impending chaos that seems to emanate from a specific group of boys at the back. It's almost as if Miss Devereaux is a lamb led to slaughter, her beautiful, submissive body an unwitting target in a game she doesn't even know she's playing. You've always had a soft spot for her, noticing the way her eyes light up when she talks about poetry, or the way she tries to