It wasn't a good day to be Kelly Jones. This in all honesty was a surprise. Being the Head Girl, even in a place like St Trinian's, afforded various benefits: her own room, a private parking space, even a weekly bottle of scotch from Miss Fritton. There was also the respect.

Correction: there was fear, which translated into respect.

Double correction: there was USUALLY fear, which USUALLY translated into respect.

Today, fear and respect were absent without leave. So were Kelly's clothes.

Lip curling, the Head Girl looked down at herself. Pyjamas. That's what she was wearing. And, by all indication, that's what she would be wearing for a long time, given the general lack of anything else garment-wise in her room. It wasn't exactly a whodunit. Living in St Trinian's meant that there was the same culprit at the end of every crime.

Unfortunately, this was a culprit that happened to be several hundred people. Kelly almost cracked a smile; she was, to a degree, impressed. Her classmates were purported, mainly by themselves, to fear nothing outside of their school. Kelly Jones was, however, very much inside the school. The only word for it was "ballsy".

Any other time, Kelly would have rewarded her classmates for their ambition and courage by stalking the school halls, pyjama clad and hockey stick in hand, wreaking havoc the kind of which hadn't been seen since…yesterday. Yet today was no ordinary day. Today, some visitors were coming to the school on business. And Kelly knew that one of these visitors was the reason why she was looking at an empty wardrobe. She simply didn't have time for this.

The slim brunette strode to the door, stepping out into the corridor. A few feet down the corridor there was another door. It was pink. Very pink. It was this door that Kelly opened, because it was behind this door that Chelsea, Chloe and Peaches lived. They were the Posh Totty. And if anyone had a stake in Kelly's absence from this morning's proceedings, it was them.

The room was…pink. Very pink. The very atmosphere itself smelt of expensive perfume and even more expensive hormones. There was enough lace and leather in evidence to make a Victoria's Secret catalogue. Home sweet home.

The three Totties in question were, at present, gathered around a phone; their backs were to Kelly. It wasn't like she'd have to be stealthy, then. Whilst not as stupid as they were believed to be by…well…everyone, the corset-clad classmates were very easily distracted. During one of their private phone calls, their vision was pretty much based on movement. Quite noticeable movement. With some sort of loud fanfare to announce said-movement.

Kelly stepped closer, now listening to what sort of conversation was being carried out.

"Oh Charles," sighed Peaches, her eyes sparkling with manufactured lust, "I do wish that you could visit the school for a few days. Think of all the things that we could do together." She waited for the reply, smoothing back her hair with a cheerful smile at the sound of deep breathing getting faster; another soon-to-be-satisfied customer.

Kelly actually hated to threaten business like this, but the Head Girl was the Head Girl, and her clothes were her clothes. Business was a secondary concern in this particular matter.

She leaned forward, taking a firm grasp of both Chloe and Chelsea's hair and putting her mouth to their ears. She waited for the girls to finish gasping and stifling their own cries of alarm before continuing.

"If my clothes," she whispered, "aren't returned to me in the next ten seconds, I am going to put an end to that conversation in the most interesting way that I possibly can. And, as you already know, I've got some damn good ideas in that area…"

Before she knew it, Kelly was back in her room, holding a pile of what seemed to be all of her clothes. It seemed that the Totties had even had someone iron them for her as well. That was so like those three; they'd attempt to sabotage your most important day of the year with giggles galore, but they wouldn't have you looking like a slob at any other time.

Something fell from the large pile of clothes, hitting the floor. It was black and somewhat stiff. Kelly frowned, using a foot to flip it over. It definitely wasn't hers, because she didn't own anything like this. It was a corset. A very revealing corset. Obviously the Posh Totties had still not learned the basics of sorting clothes.

Then again, Kelly mused, flinging the clothes as one into her wardrobe, neither have you.

Thirty miles away, inside a small, black car, trouble approached. It was a lot of trouble. It was the reason for Kelly's heightened sense of urgency; it was the reason that the Posh Totty had become unsuccessful saboteurs.

This was the kind of trouble that made normal trouble look unshaven and unkempt. This was the kind of trouble that girls, especially the Belles of St Trinian's, went to sleep dreaming about. This was the sexiest trouble that you ever did see.

Twenty-nine miles away.

Kelly, finally dressed in her uniform, examined herself in the mirror; her hair was fine; her make-up was flawless; her figure was tempting. Perfect. If she could keep that in mind for the next few days, this might end well.

But it never does end well with him, does it, Kel? And there was that treacherous little bitch of a voice at the back of her mind. Which, she reminded herself, was the voice of her own doubt.

And her own experience.

Kelly looked into her reflection's eyes. She could feel the doubt now. It was all so stupid; she'd spent days building herself up to this and, now, she was watching herself fall apart. And only one person could do that to her.

She blinked, shaking herself. This was ridiculous. She had to stop thinking like this; she was driving herself insane in an empty room. Her eyes flickered to her bookshelf. The latest bottle of scotch, the typical token of appreciation from the headmistress, stood full and inviting, somehow standing out from its surroundings.

Kelly glanced at the clock. She had time.

The small black car pulled to a stop at the gate. Four pairs of eyes turned to look at the sign that read "St Trinian's School for Young Ladies". The skulls lining the sign were also quite the eyecatcher. Three mouths stretched into grim smiles as the car set off, now going at a much more sedate pace. They were being watched now.

Kelly regarded the amber liquid at the bottom of her glass. As much as she appreciated the weekly bottle of Famous Grouse, she would always be a vodka girl. The whisky was already making her brain feel too small for her skull. All she wanted, right now, was just to –

"Black eagle! Black eagle!" the Head Girl stared at her door, hearing the faint cry from the corridor. "They're here! Stations!"

Her body feeling like something that did not quite belong to her, she crossed as quickly as she could to the window. There was the car-oh god they're here-and she could see through the window-oh god HE'S here-and the door was opening-OH GOD.

Kelly couldn't remember ever moving faster in her life. Time seemed to slow as she burst through her door, threw herself down the stairs, rebounded off Andrea as she sprinted through the corridor, finally skidding to a halt in front of the main door.

For that one second, Kelly forgot that she could move.

In the second that followed it, Kelly remembered that she was a St Trinian's girl. That was the thought that had kept her strong all of these years. That was the one part of her that had given her the ability to push the envelope further than anybody else.

It was the reason that she pushed open the door, stepped out into the May sunshine and simply said: "Alright?"

One of the figures that had stepped out of the car had his back to the school, but at the sound of Kelly's voice, he turned around, removed the sunglasses that prevented those burning, hypnotic eyes from locking onto hers.

"Hey there, Kel," he said.

Cal Calavera had come to St Trinian's.

Kelly Jones looked at the four young men standing by the car. Every girl at that school knew them by sight and, in the case of three of them, by name.

The first of them, Tony Copal, leaned against the vehicle, his steady gaze meeting that of those around him. His skin was tinged with the handsome tan of South America, and his suit was probably worth more than the car he'd just stepped out of. Despite his attractive appearance and the modest smile that played about his lips, Kelly knew that there were certainly no less than four knives concealed about his person. Tony liked knives. This made him popular with the schoolgirls.

Next to Tony stood The Courier. That was the closest that anybody, even his closest friends, had come to knowing his name. He was a good-looking boy, but appeared to do everything that he could to remain entirely nondescript and unnoticed by those around him. He upheld himself with a quiet and unflappable dignity that, even in the deepest depths of St Trinian's, had never failed him.

Frank Callaghan was, almost entirely, the contrast to The Courier. Everything about his screamed of lust: his dark curly hair; his bright turquoise eyes; his slim, tapering form. Soon enough, everyone he met ended up screaming as well. Dignity was always the last thing on Frank's mind.

And next to Frank, there was Cal. Cal Calavera. Even with the most sexually active and appealing boy that Kelly knew of standing close, there was still something about Cal that made him extinguish everything around him. The Head Girl had long ago stopped trying to work out what that quality was; she had succumbed to it a long time ago.

Now Cal was standing in front of her again.

"Long journey?" Kelly asked, stepping forward with what she hoped was a lazy, casual pace.

Cal smiled, beginning to walk towards her as he said: "Long enough, thanks. Still," he continued, his eyes looking deep into hers, "it's nice to be back."

Kelly returned the smile, brushing a stray hair from her eyes not-entirely unintentionally. "You missed this place that much, then?"

The young man reached forward, his slim fingers slowly moving aside the hair that Kelly had also not-entirely unintentionally left in front of her face. Kelly had to fight not to catch her breath, and hoped to hell that she wasn't blushing.

"I missed something," came his reply. NOW Kelly felt the rising heat in her neck, slowly yet inevitably spreading to her cheeks. She didn't want the whole school to see her face turn red in front of one boy, but she couldn't look away from those dark, haunting eyes.

Luckily, Tony wasn't entirely without a heart, and he stepped forward.

"You called about wanting to do business, Kelly. We've got some gear with us that we didn't mention over the phone; we may be here a little longer than planned."

And I'd bet that Cal had just a little something to do with THAT, that small, sly voice in her head whispered. Kelly didn't care; she didn't even hear it. She was just trying not to look too cheerful at the prospect.

"Still don't trust electronics, Tony?" she asked, pleased with how steady and businesslike her own voice sounded.

Tony simply grinned in reply; his strange phobia of discussing arrangements and conducting any form of negotiation over the phone was quite well known; apparently he was paranoid about having his voice recorded. Still, Kelly was in no state to complain, as he always seemed to bring Cal along with him. And friendship was one thing, but she knew that in any other situation it would take a miracle to persuade Tony to spend two hours in a car with Cal. On the last journey alone, The Courier had been forced to dictate a strict "no knives in the car" policy after the first ten minutes. Tony suffered Cal's constant attempts to irritate him on those journeys for Kelly and, in a small part, for Cal himself. She'd have to tell the girls to be VERY nice to him this weekend.

Kelly looked back at Cal, who hadn't taken his eyes from her face.

"You boys want anything?" she asked, keeping her voice steadily casual. "Food, drink..."

"I," the Courier stated, stepping towards the building, "would appreciate a brief meeting with Miss Fritton. The two of us have some business that requires discussion."

"Fritton's in her office; she's expecting you." Kelly replied, stepping aside to allow the serious young man access to the school. "Nice to see you, by the way."

The Courier's expression didn't change, but he inclined his head respectfully to her as he passed by. "A pleasure as always, Miss Jones."

Tony stretched with a long yawn as his colleague walked through the imposing doorway; his jacket hung open just enough that Kelly could see one long knife securely fastened to the lining.

"Where can a man get a double espresso around here?" he asked, fully aware of the stir that the appearance of an edged weapon had caused amongst the ranks of the girls gathered around him.

With her trademark yet still uncanny silence, Zoe stepped forwards. The diminutive emo had always had an eye for Tony. Kelly noticed with a slight smile that the girl had straightened her hair and that her typical black attire had been arranged into a vaguely alluring fashion; not that Zoe would ever admit that she'd taken care of her appearance for anyone, even a young man with several knives about his person and (almost certainly) several murders in his past.

"We've been seeing how long we can stay awake for," she hissed softly. "There're still a few pints of espresso to go."

Tony smiled. "How long has it been so far?"

"Four days. I've been seeing my dead relatives since two o'clock this morning."

The Latino didn't bat an eyelid; he'd seen his fair share of dead people, too. "Lead on, emo chick."

"I told you not to call me that."

"You love it."

Kelly and Cal exchanged a look. She did. That was the reason that her hand was already gently entwining itself in Tony's. The Head Girl could never really figure that one out; the second-in-command of the emo faction of St Trinian's was even less approachable than Andrea, her leader. Yet introduce one possible murderer into the mix and she became as docile as a kitten.

A black kitten, admittedly. A black kitten with sharp claws and mischief in its eyes, but a creature that still more likely to rub up against Tony than go for his jugular. Not many boys could expect that treatment. Certainly not Cal or the Courier, though they would escape less scathed than others. Perhaps Frank.

Oh yes…Frank. Frank was…already gone. And that was that. She wouldn't see him for the rest of the visit. Possibly he would resurface a few weeks later, quietly sneaking away into the surrounding woodland.

Well…Frank's version of sneaking. Frank's version of sneaking had never seemed to involve much subtlety. Or, for that matter, much clothing. Or, for another matter, much not-getting-caught. That was Frank for you.

The Posh Totty wouldn't be seen for a while either. So much for business not suffering.

Kelly was so lost in her thoughts that she had yet to realise that she and Cal were alone; the girls had left along with the Courier, Tony and Frank. Mostly Frank. Before she could say anything, before she could panic, before she could THINK…Cal's lips pressed against hers. His hands crept around her body, sliding slowly down to her waist; his tongue gently quested into Kelly's mouth, whose own tongue caressed his as her eyes closed.

It was a good day to be Kelly Jones.