Principal Cinch walked through the hallways of Crystal Prep Academy. Class was in session, and the whole building was quiet, her echoing footprints the only sound breaking the silence that surrounded her. Quiet had a way of following Principal Cinch in Crystal Prep Academy, she pulled it through the building like a cape. The world around her found order as she moved into it. Students stopped talking, teachers stood a little straighter. Perhaps it was out of respect, perhaps it was out of fear, but ultimately Principal Cinch did not care. Ultimately, only one thing mattered:
She had a reputation.
She knew the things that were said about her. Both in the school and out of it, she was considered to be, at best, harsh. In more generous circles she was considered to be a rigorous taskmaster, someone who applied pressure to her students, but got results. By many accounts, this was a positive thing; pressure made diamonds, after all.
And then there were the...other things that were said about her. Whispers in the corners of the academy, when the students thought she could not hear them. They called her ‘cruel’, and ‘heartless’, and, at points, ‘narcissistic’. Principal Cinch supposed that she could not really argue with any of those assessments. Crystal Prep Academy served one, underlying purpose for her: secure and maintain her reputation. It was a source of something she valued, nothing more than that.
But she valued it very dearly. And she cared for the school the way others might care for a beloved pet, or a child. She knew the school well, she could walk its corridors blindfolded from any point and find her way to her office with poise and grace. It was, she felt, an extension of herself in many ways. Its victories were her victories. Its accomplishments, a reflection of her own.
As were her students.
***
The classroom doors opened up and students poured out into the hallways like water escaping a faucet. Principal Cinch watched the scene the way a lioness guards her cubs, her gaze shifting from student to student in moments of quick, but intense, focus. She analyzed the flow of students, some pleased, some aggravated, but none of it unusual.
That is, until she sensed a tiny disruption.
It was a small one, to be sure, but something had disrupted the natural flow of her students. She traced the waves of slightly displaced children back to the point of origin, a single girl with short, purple hair and carrying a single piece of paper.
“Miss Sunny Flare,” Principal Cinch said, walking up behind the student and announcing her presence politely, but firmly.
“P-principal Cinch,” Sunny Flare said. She hurriedly tried to shove the sheet of paper she was holding into her book bag, but Principal Cinch swiped it from her hand before she could put it away. It was an evaluation form, specifically for a group project, and based on the date it had just been handed back that day. The final score was on top of the sheet, written in red ink and surrounded in an attention-drawing circle.
“A ‘B+’, Miss Flare?” Principal Cinch asked. Sunny Flare nodded, shame clear on her face as she tried to avoid eye contact. In truth, a ‘B+’ was a respectable grade at Crystal Prep Academy. The quality of work required to get a ‘B+’ there was high enough to warrant an ‘A’ almost anywhere else in the world. Many students would be happy, or at least satisfied, with that. But Principal Cinch knew her students. She knew that this was not the kind of work that Sunny Flare would be proud of herself for. “What happened?” Cinch asked.
Sunny Flare shrugged, as though it was no big deal. “It was a group project,” she said. “I was paired with a few other students, including Jet Set. He sort of...took the lead from the beginning. And he did an...alright job, I suppose.”
“But you could have done better?” Principal Cinch asked. Slowly, Sunny Flare nodded. “Then why didn’t you? Why didn’t you speak up?”
Sunny Flare looked down at the floor, bit her lip, then muttered out, “...it didn’t seem very...ladylike to cause a fuss over it. Especially since we were doing...fine with doing it his way.”
Ah. So, that was it.
“And who told you that being ‘ladylike’ meant letting yourself be pushed around?” Principal Cinch asked. This seemed to shock Sunny Flare.
“Well...no one, but-”
“I certainly do not allow myself to be overrun by people less capable than me, just because they are louder. Does that make me any less ‘ladylike’?”
“Well, no, of course not, I-I just meant-”
“I would think,” Principal Cinch said, folding the evaluation form delicately as she spoke, “that a true lady would decide for herself what is and is not ladylike behavior. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I-I suppose, but-”
“Perhaps it is time for another impromptu lesson, Miss Flare. Here.” Principal Cinch held out the piece of paper, which she had folded into an origami rose. “What would you say of this?”
Sunny Flare examined the origami flower, not entirely sure what to make of it. “Um...well, it looks very nice.”
“Would you call it ‘feminine’?”
“Well...yes,” Sunny Flare said. “Yes, I suppose I would.”
“Would you say that it is beautiful?”
“I...yes. Yes, it is very beautiful.”
“I see,” Principal Cinch said. Then, in an instant, she crushed it in the palm of her hand. Sunny Flare flinched at the sound of the paper being crumpled. “And what would you say now?” she asked, opening her hand and showing the crumpled remains of what had, just moments ago, been a perfect piece of origami art.
“Well...it’s not beautiful anymore, I guess,” Sunny Flare said. Principal Cinch gave a tiny smirk, and handed the crumpled evaluation form back to Sunny Flare.
“Precisely,” she said. “Beautiful things that are delicate do not remain beautiful for long, Miss Flare. If they cannot stand up to the pressures of the outside world, they become broken. And there is nothing ‘ladylike’ about that at all, I assure you. And there is nothing shameful about standing up for your ideas. Truly beautiful things can last. They push back against the world when it puts pressure on them. Pressure makes diamonds, Miss Flare. And there is nothing more beautiful than a diamond. Remember that.” Cinch turned around, then added, “I hope you will keep this little talk of ours in mind during your next group project.”
“I…” Sunny Flare looked down at the crumpled evaluation form in her hand. “I will,” she said.
“Very good, Miss Flare.”
***
Principal Cinch glanced into one of the classrooms. It was currently unoccupied, so she entered and looked around. The classroom was set up in an auditorium-style layout, with a podium in the center, projector hanging from the ceiling, and lines of concave desks going up, one level at a time, so that each row of students could see above the heads of the students in front of them.
During most of the year, this and rooms like it served as normal classrooms, usually to accommodate larger classes. The intent of classrooms like this, however, was to give students an area where they could give presentations, practice in front of a crowd, and develop competent public speaking skills. Crystal Prep took pride in its ability to prepare students for the outside world.
Though sometimes that preparation required...special attention.
***
“The...um...th-that is...comparative advantage is defined as-”
“Project, Miss Sweet,” Principal Cinch said as she walked around the top row of the auditorium-style classroom, circling the girl in the center of the room like a shark. “You need to speak about twice as loud and half as fast as you think you do while giving a presentation.” More like three or four times as loud in this girl’s case. She was almost unnaturally quiet. “Otherwise your speech is lost to the audience in the back row, and your words slur together and become difficult to understand.”
“Oh...um...right,” Sour Sweet said. “S-sorry, I’ll talk louder.” She took in a breath and spoke, barely any louder than before, “C-comparative advantage is when w-w-work g-gains a-are-” Sour Sweet’s eyes drifted to the floor, and she found herself staring at her own shoes.
“Look at your audience, Miss Sweet,” Principal Cinch said, coming to the edge of the classroom and turning back around. “You need to make eye contact. Engage individual members of the audience to pull them into your presentation. If you don’t, then you will lose their attention.”
“O-okay,” Sour Sweet said. She brushed back her hair, which had fallen over her face like a mask, took in another breath and then started again. “C-c-c-compe-et-it-it-it-ive a-a-a-ad-v-vant-tage-” Principal Cinch rolled her eyes. Sour Sweet was actually keeping her head level this time, but her eyes were closed.
This was not, Principal Cinch had realized, a simple case of stage fright. Nor was it a case of a shy student suddenly being thrust into the spotlight. Cinch had dealt with shy students before. This was something more. Sour Sweet was not afraid of speaking in public, she was afraid of speaking at all. Somewhere in her life, someone had told her to shut up. Keep quiet. No one wants to hear what you have to say. Someone had told her that whatever thoughts were buzzing around in her head, she had better keep them to herself. So, as a natural act of self-defence, she had built up walls. She had enclosed her mind in a fortress of isolation that kept out the world that had hurt her so badly. Normally, Principal Cinch would not disapprove, but those same walls were now getting in Sour Sweet’s way.
And, by extension, Principal Cinch’s way.
Well, she thought to herself, the best way to handle troublesome walls was to tear them down. Pressure made diamonds, after all.
“Miss Sweet,” Principal Cinch said as she slowly descended the staircase in the center of the room, slowly making her way to the podium Sour Sweet was standing behind, “do you not understand that this final project is worth a significant portion of your final grade for this class?”
“W-well, of course I do, I-I just-”
“Then do you simply not care?” Cinch asked, stepping off the final ledge and slowly making her way across the flat section of the floor to Sour Sweet. “Are you under the impression that if you fail this project, someone will come to save you? Do you believe that you do not need to put in the full effort of your classmates, because there will be no consequences for doing badly?”
“N-not at all! No, I-I would n-never thi-think tha-”
“Well then, that leaves only one explanation, doesn’t it?” Principal Cinch took one last step, so that she was face-to-face with Sour Sweet, with only the podium separating them. “You’re stupid.”
Sour Sweet’s eyes widened in surprise. “W-well, I, I w-wouldn't say that…”
Principal Cinch raised an eyebrow. “Really? I would. A child can be taught how to give a presentation at least passably. But apparently even that simple concept can’t find its way through your thick skull.”
Sour Sweet looked down to the ground. Her arms were trembling, and her pink hair fell forward, completely covering her face. “I...I…”
Principal Cinch considered for a moment. Had she gone too far?
“I’m...TEN TIMES SMARTER THAN THE REST OF THOSE MORONS IN MY CLASS, YOU DUMB, OLD HAG!”
The insult hung in the air long after the actual sound had dissipated. Sour Sweet froze for a moment, her own words echoing in her ears as Principal Cinch stood in unflinching silence. Terror flashed over Sour Sweet’s face and she wove her hands, as though she could somehow sponge out what she had said. “Wh-what I meant was-”
“Talk like that in your presentation tomorrow,” Principal Cinch said, as she turned and walked towards the door, “and your audience will have no trouble understanding you.”
There was a pause, and Sour Sweet meekly squeaked out, “...am I expelled?”
Principal Cinch took a moment, as though she was considering. “No,” she said, then added, “Not as long as you ace that presentation tomorrow.” She left the room, but not before calling back, “I’ll be watching, Miss Sweet.”
***
Principal Cinch walked up the staircase, coming to a corner of Crystal Prep Academy’s central building. Before continuing up the second staircase she looked out of the window of the crystal tower and out onto the athletic field.
The field had been expensive. Very expensive. And the maintenance was a large, recurring cost on Crystal Prep Academy’s books. When Principal Cinch had first decided to build it many other members of the faculty had been skeptical. Crystal Prep had been an academic powerhouse, and dividing student attention between their studies and athletics would endanger that.
But Cinch had gone forward with it, despite the objections. It was not about maintaining Crystal Prep’s reputation for academic excellence. That was important, yes, but there was more to it than that. Principal Cinch had wanted Crystal Prep’s reputation to be excellence: full stop. Not just academic, not just athletic, but in all things possible.
Put another way, she wanted to give her students the opportunity to excel in everything it was possible to excel in.
***
“I have been keeping a rather close eye on you, Miss Zap,” Principal Cinch said. She was standing on Crystal Prep Academy’s baseball field, holding a baseball bat and overlooking her domain. “And I must say, I have been impressed.”
“Of course you have,” Indigo Zap said, giving a small grin and putting her hand on her chest in a boasting gesture. “I’m awesome.”
“Your test scores put you at one of the top students in your class. Quite an impressive feat, especially considering the competition.”
“Well, yeah,” Indigo Zap said, her grin widening. She rubbed her nails together casually. “It’s no big deal. At least, no big deal for me.”
“Hmm,” Principal Cinch said. “However, I have noticed that you have not enrolled in any of Crystal Prep Academy’s athletic teams.”
For a moment, the confidence vanished from Indigo Zap’s face. She immediately tried to cover it, but Cinch had caught it. “W-well, that’s true,” Indigo Zap said, scratching the back of her head uncomfortably. “I haven’t.”
“And why,” Principal Cinch said, as she walked over to Indigo Zap and handed her the baseball bat, “is that?”
Indigo Zap shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I’m just...not that athletic.”
Principal Cinch turned around and started to walk down the center of the baseball diamond. “Ah. Well, I suppose that’s fair.” Then, she suddenly turned around and threw the baseball she had concealed in her palm straight at Indigo Zap.
Indigo Zap moved on pure instinct. She swung the bat with a quickness, strength, and precision that Principal Cinch was barely able to register the movement. There was a loud ‘crack’ and the ball went flying into the distance. The bat was shattered, and as the baseball disappeared into the horizon Principal Cinch could vaguely see that the stitching had come undone from the force of the impact.
Cinch placed a hand over her eyes, shielding the sunlight to better watch the vanishing ball. “That would be a home run, I believe.” She turned back to Indigo Zap, who had a look of pure shock on her face and dropped the broken baseball bat. “So, shall we stop pretending that you actually believe you are not athletic, and tell me the real reason why it is that you do not want to join any of our sports teams?”
Indigo Zap looked to the ground, the confidence she had shown just a few minutes ago completely drained from her. She kicked a small rock aside, and finally muttered, “...my sister…”
“Ah,” Principal Cinch said. “Miss Lightning Dust, I believe?” Indigo Zap nodded.
“She’s better than me,” Indigo Zap said. “In any sport we try, she’s...just better. I’ve tried to win, I really have. But she’s just naturally more gifted than I am. So...I figured...why bother?”
“I see,” Principal Cinch said, folding her hands behind her back and approaching Indigo Zap. “You cannot outdo your sister, so it is not even worth trying?”
“Pretty much,” Indigo Zap said.
“And are you the best in math? Or chemistry?”
Indigo Zap considered this for a moment, trying to figure out where Cinch was going with this. “Well...no. I’m competitive at it, but there’s at least one girl who’s consistently scoring higher than me in those subjects.”
“And have you given up on those as well?”
Indigo Zap shook her head, a look of confusion on her face. “No...but I’m beating Lightning Dust there.”
“But you’re still not the best,” Principal Cinch said. “And if you are going to be deciding what you do and do not do based on the arbitrary metric of whether or not you are better than your sister at them, you may as well only do things that you are the best at. That way, you never have to experience failure.”
Indigo Zap seemed to consider this, tapping her chin in thought. “But...if I only did things I was the best at...I suppose I wouldn’t do very much.”
“Precisely,” Principal Cinch said. “There are a lot of people in the world. And very few of them are the absolute best at something, bar none. And the ones who claim to only experience success in life are generally not the ones who are naturally talented. They are the ones who are avoiding failure. The truly impressive people are the ones who are constantly pushing themselves, realizing that they may not be the best at what they are doing. They even realize that they may fail. But they do not avoid it. They keep trying, they keep improving, and they keep pushing themselves to the edge of their ability. That is what it means to be truly impressive, Miss Zap. It means putting yourself under constant pressure. Pressure makes diamonds.”
Principal Cinch walked past Indigo Zap, then came to a stop. “However,” she added, “I realize that it may be uncomfortable for you to compete directly with your sister. You may be better off in a sport that she has not enrolled in. The volleyball team needs a new captain. And you might just be perfect. I hope you will give this some thought, Miss Zap.”
Indigo Zap looked down at the broken bat by her legs, and gave a small nod. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Excellent. I look forward to seeing what you are really capable of.”
***
“Excuse me?” A voice came from behind Principal Cinch as she approached the door to her office. She turned around to see a man wearing a blue delivery uniform. “Are you Abacus Cinch?”
“I am,” Cinch said, her arms folded behind her back.
“Oh, good,” the man said, and handed her a brown, cardboard box. “I have a delivery for you. Would you mind just signing here?”
Principal Cinch diligently signed the delivery form in neat, flowing cursive and accepted the package. When she opened it, she found a silk, black top hat with a purple ribbon tied around it. With a look of satisfaction on her face she tucked the hat under her arm and opened the door to her office.
***
“Now then,” Principal Cinch said, swiveling around in her chair to face her guests, “what appears to be the problem?”
“There’s no problem,” Lemon Zest said, crossing her arms angrily. She shot a glare up to Professor Hard Line. “At least, there wouldn’t be if he’d just give me my headphones back.”
“Lemon Zest has been a consistent disruption in class,” Hard Line said. “She ignores my lectures and listens to music instead. I told her on several occasions that if she wore her headphones to class one more time, I would confiscate them, and she did not listen.”
“I’m not ignoring his lectures,” Lemon Zest said. Cinch raised an eyebrow.
“Are you telling me that you are not listening to music during Professor Hard Line’s classes?”
“I’m not saying that at all,” Lemon Zest said. “I’m saying that I’m not ignoring him.”
“School is a place for learning, Miss Zest,” Principal Cinch said, clasping her hands together as she spoke. “And I find it difficult to believe that you are capable of learning while blaring rock music in your ears at top volume.”
“But I CAN,” Lemon Zest said, tapping the side of her head where her headphones would normally sit. “The music helps me to focus.” Principal Cinch raised an eyebrow.
“Really? Then you were listening to Professor Hard Line’s lecture before you were dragged to my office?” Lemon Zest nodded. “And you understood the material?” Lemon Zest nodded again. “Well then,” Cinch went on, opening a drawer in her desk and producing a sheet of paper, “if that is the case, then this test shouldn’t prove difficult for you. It covers the material that was on Professor Hard Line’s syllabus for today. If you truly understood today’s lecture, even while listening to your music, then you should have no problem completing it.”
It was, Cinch had to admit to herself, a blatantly unfair challenge. Giving a student a test on material they had just been introduced to within the past hour was setting her up for failure. She had not had the time she needed to review it, even if she had been paying attention in class. But, occasionally, students needed a lesson in failure. They needed to know that they were not, as they may have come to believe about themselves, undefeatable. It was a hard lesson to learn, but sometimes you needed to know when to apply the pressure. After all, pressure made-
“Done,” Lemon Zest said. Principal Cinch blinked. She had barely noticed that Lemon Zest had picked up the pen, let alone started the test. Cinch looked up at the clock. Less than a minute had passed since she had pulled the test out of her desk. It was only a single page long and multiple choice, but still, that was amazingly fast.
Warily, Principal Cinch picked up the completed test and looked over the results. To her surprise, Lemon Zest had done quite well. There were a couple of wrong answers, but it would still have come out to an ‘A’ if the test had actually been graded, and well above what a student who was guessing, or only half-understood the material, could have achieved.
“Professor Hard Line,” Principal Cinch said, dropping the test back onto the table. “Please return Miss Zest’s headphones and continue your lecture.”
Hard Line’s eyes grew wide in surprise. “You cannot be serious Principal-”
“I am quite serious, Professor,” Cinch said. “You are not to confiscate them again. Is this clear?”
Hard Line’s eyes betrayed his rage at this new directive, but he managed to keep it contained. “Very clear, Principal Cinch.” Cinch nodded.
“And you, Miss Zest,” Cinch said. “You will either find headphones that will not intrude on your classmates, or turn down the music to the point where they are not disruptive to Professor Hard Line’s lecture. Is THIS clear?”
Lemon Zest nodded. “Crystal clear.”
***
In her office, Principal Cinch examined the black top hat. She ran her fingers over its silk sides, plucked at the knot tying the purple ribbon in place, trying to get some measure of its physical, intrinsic quality. It was a strange thing, she thought, and in another life she would have liked to have examined it further. When she was younger she very much would have liked to tear the thing apart, piece by piece, to figure it out for herself. There was an attractive quality to it, to mystery, to not knowing something. It was not something that Cinch felt often. For the most part, her world was orderly and predictable. The things that mattered, she knew, or at least knew enough about to understand what it was she did not know. It had been a long time since she had felt this hunger for knowledge, for understanding, and it reminded her of her younger days as a student.
But that was not her life anymore. And she had little time or opportunity to indulge her natural curiosity.
There was a knock on Principal Cinch’s door. “Come in,” she said, and Dean Cadence walked inside.
“Principal Cinch,” she said, “your visitor from CHS is here.”
Cinch nodded and dropped the tophat into a drawer in the bottom of her desk. “Thank you, Dean Cadence. Please, let her in.”
Cadence disappeared from the office, and in a few moments, the door opened again.
***
“Well then, Miss Sugarcoat,” Principal Cinch said as she examined the paperwork that sat on her desk. “You have developed quite the...reputation for yourself.”
Sugarcoat sat with her arms folded in the chair across from Principal Cinch’s desk and shrugged. Sugarcoat did not, at least at first glance, meet the general expectations of a student interviewing to be accepted at Crystal Prep Academy. Most prospective students dressed formally when they applied. They put their hair into ponytails or braids, or at least combed it. Sugarcoat had come in wearing torn, denim jeans, a t-shirt in an equal state of disrepair, and sat, cross-legged and leaning back in her chair. It was an almost offensive display of informality, at least to the casual observer.
But Cinch was not a casual observer. She could see the markings of good posture underlying the rather over-the-top display of not caring. The casual clothes, the bad seating, it was all very deliberate, and almost painful for her. Sugarcoat was putting on a show, and a borderline painful one for her at that. Something had beaten her into this nearly nihilistic state of uncaring disregard for authority, but it had not been lack of proper teaching. Sugarcoat had been taught how to dress, how to walk, how to sit in a formal environment, and she was rejecting it.
“Expelled from two schools,” Cinch went on, reading from the transcript. “Rejected from four more. You have accumulated quite the list of...shall we say, behavioural issues.” The permanent record Cinch had managed to get ahold of was the size of a middling-length textbook, of which only three and a half pages were dedicated to Sugarcoat’s actual academic performance. The rest consisted of various warnings, complaints, records of disciplinary action and, finally, expulsion papers.
“I suppose I have,” Sugarcoat said, shrugging again. There it was. It was quick, but Cinch could see it. Sugarcoat had winced, ever so slightly, as she gave the crude little shrug, annoyed at herself for her bad posture, her informal clothes, everything. She was not, Cinch decided, acting like this out of comfort or laziness. She was behaving this way because she believed she had no other choice.
“Mouthing off to teachers,” Cinch read from the transcript. She turned a page. “Mouthing off to principals. Mouthing off to guidance councilors. Getting into fights with other students.”
“I didn’t start that fight,” Sugarcoat said, automatically, like a verbal tick. Cinch raised an eyebrow. Now this was interesting.
“Oh?” she said. “But you don’t deny any of the other charges?”
“Why would I deny it? I did all those other things,” Sugarcoat said.
“Let us take one of these incidents at random,” Principal Cinch said, turning the transcript to a page she had subtly bookmarked. “Your professor said that you called her...let me see if I am reading this correctly…‘an idiot with an overly simplified view of the early geocentric and heliocentric astronomical models.’ Is that correct?”
Sugarcoat nodded. “It is,” she said. “And she was.”
“And when you were told to apologize you said, and I quote, ‘I’m sorry you’re such an idiot.’ Is that also correct?”
“Yes,” Sugarcoat said, silently glaring at the floor. “And I was sorry she was so stupid.”
“Did it ever cross your mind that this is not exactly appropriate behavior for a student to show her professors?” Sugarcoat shook her head.
“Not even for a moment,” she said. “If something a teacher says is wrong, then it’s wrong. I should tell them that. And if they are stupid, then they’re stupid. And I should tell them that too. I have no idea why they got so sensitive about it. Do they really need to be so coddled that they can’t even be told when they’re wrong?”
Cinch leaned back in her chair. She had, at this point, intended to ask about the fight that had been the tipping point that resulted in Sugarcoat’s expulsion from her most recent school, but based on what she had just seen, Cinch could piece it together. Sugarcoat had likely said something equally blunt to another student, which had provoked the fight. The school, eager for the chance to get rid of what they considered to be a problem student, had taken the opportunity to expel her. Many schools had a zero-tolerance policy for fighting, and it rarely mattered who had thrown the first punch.
And once a child was labeled a problem student, it was difficult to be accepted anywhere else. It was the dark side of having a reputation. Sugarcoat had experienced rejection after rejection, until slowly she had come to accept that she would not be accepted anywhere. That was when she had stopped coming to interviews in formal clothes, that was when she had put on the exaggerated bad posture of a delinquent. She had come to believe that she would not be accepted anywhere, so she may as well show as much defiance to the process as possible.
But unlike some other principals, Cinch has bothered to look into some of these incidents. The argument with the astronomy professor had not, despite her claim, been selected at random. Cinch had investigated it herself, and found that Sugarcoat had, in protest, written a paper comparing the ancient heliocentric and geocentric models. They were not, despite her professor’s claims, a simple case of, ‘The Earth goes around the sun’ versus, ‘The sun goes around the Earth’. There was a system of epicycles built into them, an evolution from simple circles in early heliocentric models to, ultimately correct, elliptical orbits. The paper was well researched, the math accurate, and brought the historical context of the debate to the present century. Perhaps, Cinch had thought, if her teacher had bothered to read it, she might have been able to improve her lectures.
“Well then, Miss Sugarcoat,” Principal Cinch said, “you are hereby accepted to Crystal Prep Academy.”
Sugarcoat’s eyes widened in shock. “I...am?” she asked.
Principal Cinch nodded. “Report to class on Monday. There is a dress code. I presume that will not be a problem?”
Sugarcoat’s posture corrected itself immediately. She uncrossed her legs, straightened her back, and quickly tried to at least fix her hair. “No...not a problem at all.”
“Very good, Miss Sugarcoat,” Cinch said. She stood up and opened the door. “We look forward to having you in our classes.”
“Wait,” Sugarcoat said, grabbing onto the back of her chair in anxiety. “What if...what if I call one of the teachers here stupid?”
Principal Cinch straightened her glasses. “Miss Sugarcoat. I think you’ll find that Crystal Prep Academy has no stupid teachers. And if we do, they’ll be getting what they deserve with you in their class.”
Pressure makes diamonds, Principal Cinch considered. But pressure went both ways. And a little pressure on her faculty could be exactly what was needed.
***
“Miss Cheerilee,” Principal Cinch said, pouring a cup of tea as she spoke, “thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Of course,” Cheerilee said, accepting the cup of tea, dropping in a lump of sugar, and taking a small sip. “But I think you are going to be disappointed.”
“Perhaps,” Principal Cinch said. “But perhaps not.” She pushed a small slip of paper across the table. “I would like for you to come and work for me, here, at Crystal Prep Academy. That,” Cinch said, nodding down to the slip of paper, “would be your starting salary.”
Cheerilee picked up the slip of paper, and her eyes widened as she saw the contents. “That is...twice what you offered me last time,” she said. “And four times what I’m making right now.”
“If you want the best, you pay for the best,” Principal Cinch said. “And I’ve been tracking your students very carefully. You are the best in terms of elementary school education, at least in the area. And I would like to expand Crystal Prep Academy’s curriculum to the elementary school level. Get children in sooner, when their minds are more adaptable and able to accept new concepts. No need for them to unlearn bad habits they picked up from elsewhere. One-hundred percent Crystal Prep Academy education, from kindergarten to graduation.”
“It’s a very generous offer,” Cheerilee said, pushing the slip of paper back to Principal Cinch. “But I’m afraid that I am going to have to decline. Again.”
Cinch raised an eyebrow. “Is it the money? Still not enough? I’m sure we could come to an arrangement if you gave me an idea of what you were looking for. Some of our alumni are, shall we say...Filthy Rich.”
Cheerilee shook her head. “No, it’s not the money. Believe me, it’s not the money.”
“Then what is it?” Principal Cinch asked. Cheerilee gestured to her surroundings.
“It’s...this place,” she said. “I don’t think I could take part in it. Don’t get me wrong, Principal Cinch, you’ve produced some amazing results. But this school is...well, it’s a place where all that matters is success. And I’m not saying that’s so bad. For some students, I’m sure that’s exactly what they need. And I’m sure that there is a lot about your educational philosophy that’s useful, that I could learn from myself. But...it’s not where I want to teach. I want my students to be happy. I don’t want them to feel like all of their self-worth is wrapped up in how they do on a test, or if they win a ballgame.” Cheerilee looked around the office. “This place...it’s a pressure cooker.”
“Pressure makes diamonds, Miss Cheerilee,” Principal Cinch said.
“It also makes waffles,” Cheerilee answered. “But no one ever seems to mention that.”
Despite herself, Principal Cinch had to keep herself from chuckling.
“I hope I haven’t offended you,” Cheerilee said. “I don’t think what you’re doing is necessarily wrong. It’s just...not for me.”
“I assure you, Miss Cheerilee, it would take a lot more than that to offend me,” Principal Cinch said. Cheerilee stood up.
“Thank you for having me,” she said.
“I’ll be in touch again,” Principal Cinch said. “You’ll come over to my way of thinking, someday.”
“Perhaps,” Cheerilee said, standing up. “I do hope to speak with you again.”
Cheerilee left the office, and Cinch leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. With all the distractions of the physical world blocked out, she was free to focus on her internal one. The fractal structure of information she had built in her neat and ordered mind, like a giant, growing crystal. Each, shimmering piece contained a key fragment of information. She kept the names of her students in there. She kept their test scores. Every test score, for every test they had ever taken. She knew their favourite subjects, their extracurricular activities. She knew where they were struggling. She knew the tutoring sessions she had planned out for them. She knew their aspirations, their interests. Every piece of information she could possibly use to boost their performance and give them one, more advantage was carefully squirreled away in her harddrive of a brain.
That was what it meant to be a passionate educator. It meant dedicating your life to education, to your students. It meant committing yourself, fully, to the goal of giving them all the knowledge they could possibly fit in their youthful brains. No matter what it took.
***
Principal Cinch opened the door to the disused supply room, loudly slamming it against the wall, startling the spectacled girl sitting inside. “Miss Sparkle,” she said, her voice firm and commanding, “what, exactly, is it that you are doing?”
Twilight jumped up from her seat, knocking over the microscope she was looking into. “P-Principal Cinch!” she said, standing at immediate attention. “N-nothing, just examining some samples I gathered a-about-”
“Not what I meant, Miss Sparkle,” Principal Cinch said. She gestured to the room around her. “What is...all of this?”
Cinch’s hand fell over the small, folding table Twilight had moved into the supply room. The bookcase in the corner, the pegboard covered in pictures, notes, and string she had hung on the wall. Principal Cinch had been watching Twilight gradually move in materials for her research over the past few weeks, in what she must have thought was a casual manner. In under a month she had turned an old supply room into a personal study space and makeshift lab. A simplistic one, to be sure, but functional enough for her purposes.
“Uh...just a...some...things I need? For my...schoolwork?” Twilight grinned awkwardly and ran her fingers through her messy hair.
“I don’t think I have to tell you, Miss Sparkle, that setting up a private lab in the academy is strictly prohibited by school rules,” Principal Cinch said. “Strictly. Prohibited.”
“I...I didn’t…” Twilight stuttered.
“And besides,” Principal Cinch said, “I need this room for some additional storage. You will have to move out.”
“I...I…” Twilight started, then looked down at the floor, defeated. “I understand.”
Principal Cinch nodded. “Very good.” Then, she yelled out the door, “Bring it in.”
Twilight’s expression fell as the men came in and packed up her few, modest belongings, carefully placing it in neat piles outside the room for her collection later. This space wasn’t much, but it had been hers, and she was sad to lose it. She watched as the workmen brought in the items for storage, one at a time, delicately placing them in the room. It was only after the room had been half filled that Twilight started to notice what it was Principal Cinch was replacing her old equipment with. A new desk. A state of the art computer. A working spectrometer. A microscope, fresh out of the box.
“Uh...Principal Cinch?” Twilight asked, looking at the newly created, admittedly bare-bones, but state of the art lab that had been created around her.
“It would appear that Crystal Prep Academy over-ordered some equipment this quarter,” Principal Cinch said. “I can’t return it, so I need to store it here for the time being.” She turned away from Twilight and folded her arms behind her back. “If I’m being honest, I’m not sure when I’ll find a use for it all. It’s very possible that it will all just stay in this room, completely untouched, for its entire useful life.”
“Uh…” Twilight said, her normally agile and efficient brain straining to process what Principal Cinch was telling her. “Are you saying…?”
“What I am certainly NOT saying, Miss Sparkle, is that you are free to use this equipment, and workspace, for the foreseeable future.” Principal Cinch turned about. “I am also NOT telling you that I have no intention of changing the locks anytime soon. Though I am, I’m sure you know, quite busy, and am not sure when I would find the time for such a thing...I suppose I will just have to assume that you won’t be sneaking in here to continue your work, behind my back.”
“Uh...right,” Twilight said, looking around in wonder at all the new equipment that had just, in effect, been delivered to her.
“I think we understand each other, Miss Sparkle,” Principal Cinch said, turning to leave the lab. “I do hope that you will, shall we say...make your decisions appropriately?”
Twilight gave a tiny nod. “I...I will, Principal Cinch.”
***
Principal Cinch opened the door to what had become unofficially known throughout Crystal Prep Academy as Twilight’s Lab. The sound of the door slamming caused Twilight to jump out of her chair and squeak in surprise. Really, Cinch thought, the girl was so easy to startle.
“Miss Sparkle,” Principal Cinch said, looking over Twilight’s shoulder to where a decommissioned spectrometer was hooked up to her laptop, feeding in data that appeared on the screen in a wave formation. “I certainly hope that you are not using Crystal Prep Academy resources to continue your study of magic.”
“What?” Twilight asked, the nervousness in her voice clear. “I-I mean, n-no, of course not, I-I’m just-”
“Because,” Cinch continued, cutting Twilight off, “as I am sure you are aware, the study of magic, or even its presence on Crystal Prep Academy grounds, is strictly-and I mean STRICTLY-prohibited.”
“W-well yes, I-I know Principal Cinch, I-I was just-”
Cinch leaned in, her face just inches away from Twilight’s glasses. “I would hope, Miss Sparkle, that my most promising student was not jeopardizing her academic career by flagrantly disregarding my directives and continuing to study magic behind my back.”
“I-I’d never do that,” Twilight said.
Principal Cinch returned to a straight, proper standing position. “I’m glad to hear it, Miss Sparkle.” With that, she presented the black top hat to Twilight. Before she even started to speak, she could see the gleam in Twilight’s eyes as she gazed upon the item. “This was recovered in the forests near Camp Everfree,” Principal Cinch said. “It is believed to be an Equestrian artifact of some kind, that somehow found its way into our world.”
“R-really?” Twilight asked, trying to hide her interest. Badly.
Principal Cinch nodded. “Observe,” she said, and picked up the nearby microscope. She dropped it into the hat, and it vanished inside. “The hat is now no heavier than it was a moment ago, despite containing a rather large microscope,” Principal Cinch said, turning the hat over and shaking it. Nothing fell out.
“H-how strange…” Twilight said, no longer trying to hide her curiosity. She leaned in to examine the hat closer. “Is there any limit to how much it can carry?”
“It is difficult to say, ‘no’ with any real certainty. There could by an upper limit to how much it can hold at any one time, but if so, no one has discovered it yet. In addition,” Cinch reached into the hat, pulled out the microscope, and placed it back on the desk, “whatever you reach in to retrieve will always be right on top, no matter what order items were placed inside, or what size they are.”
“Amazing…” Twilight whispered, her eyes completely focused on the top hat.
“Indeed,” Cinch said. “As I am sure you are aware, my...reputation gives me a certain amount of...influence. And I extended that influence to make sure that this...strange item ended up in my possession. I think it is for the best that it be destroyed.”
Twilight’s eyes widened with fear. “D-destroyed?” she asked. Cinch nodded.
“Destroyed, Miss Sparkle. We cannot have things like this loose in this world, and certainly not in my school. I am sure that you understand.”
The light disappeared from Twilight’s eyes as the realization hit her that she would never get to examine this item in detail. That Principal Cinch had likely only brought it to her to rub it in her face that this one, little wonder of the world would be forever beyond her reach. Revenge for her failure at The Friendship Games, perhaps. “I...I do. Understand, that is.” Twilight said.
“Very good, Miss Sparkle,” Principal Cinch said. Then she pushed the hat into Twilight’s hands. “Which is why I leave the task of doing so to you.”
“T-to me?” Twilight asked, her arms flailing to catch the top hat as Cinch let go of it.
“You are our resident expert on magical phenomenon. So you would, naturally, be the best person to make sure that this item is destroyed in a safe, unproblematic manner.” Cinch’s eyes focused in on Twilight. “I trust, Miss Sparkle, that you will do as I say, and have this item destroyed. That you won’t, for example, spirit it away and discreetly experiment on it while I am not looking.”
Twilight looked down at the magical hat in her arms, then back up to Principal Cinch. “N-no...of course not, Principal Cinch.”
Cinch pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “I am quite serious, Miss Sparkle. I do not want to see this thing again. Am I understood?”
Twilight nodded. “You are,” she said. “I promise. You won’t see it again.”
Cinch turned around. “Very good, Miss Sparkle,” she said, and left the room, allowing herself a tiny smirk as she walked.
It was true, she told herself as she walked through the halls of Crystal Prep Academy, that pressure made diamonds. But sometimes you already had a diamond. And all you had to do was polish.
Author's Note
Okay, so, Superbowl, who has been unbelievably kind, supportive, and thoughtful about my fanfiction writing, gave me a challenge. And I quote: "...write something with directly post-movie Cinch (not time-wise, but without anything having happened after the movie that would lead to her chilling out) and make it non-antagonistic." I'll be honest: I had planned on never writing about Principal Cinch directly. She's the pretty clear antagonist of Friendship Games, and I try to make it a point to keep my characterization of MLP characters as close to canon as possible (whether or not I SUCCEED is another question entirely 
), and I don't like to write about strictly mean characters. I like them to have some rough edges, sure, which is why I write about The Shadowbolts so often, but I like to write about characters who are, fundamentally, good, which I believe The Shadowbolts are.
However, the more I thought about it, the more I decided to focus on one trait of Principal Cinch: if nothing else, I think that we get the impression that she is a passionate educator. Sure, she may only care about her reputation, but it seems odd to me that she would go into education, and be so good at it, if all she was doing was stroking her ego. So, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt here, and treat her as a passionate educator, with a heavy dose of narcissism, rather than a pure narcissist who's just using education to get her fix of narcissistic supply.
I'm not sure if anyone's going to like this one or not...but I had a lot of fun writing it 
and I hope you enjoy reading it too!
Superbowl, I hope I lived up to your expectation.
...also, delinquent Sugarcoat was just too fun to write
Anyways, thanks for reading!
