1 September – 5th year.

Noon

Vinyl.

The cheap, faux-leathery seats in our compartment make this awful squeaky noise I've never noticed before, but certainly do now.

If I squirm around too much, it sounds like I'm flatulating.

Heehee. I know I can be pretty immature sometimes. But not around my friends. Or anyone really – I think it's because they have this uptight, pinched image of me that I'm not willing to relinquish for some reason.

Hm.

That probably says something about me, but I'm too drowsy to psychoanalyze myself at this point.

Anyway, so I'm sitting in this compartment, all alone, waiting for my friends to come. Mum dropped me off a whole thirty minutes earlier than actual boarding time, so that leaves me with plenty of time getting acquainted with you, lovely Diary.

Before Petunia had started bellowing for me earlier, I'd really wanted to record this summer's happenings.

So without further ado… my vacation.

My grandmother is French, which means plenty of trips abroad. However, Mum never had us learn la langue d'amour. Yeah, she opted for her kids to learn English…

Since I'm extremely bright – no point in me denying it, it's the only remotely appealing quality I've got – I had developed an interest in wanting to learn French early on. So it was really exciting to go to France on this particular summer hols because I'm finally, totally fluent now!

And, oh the boys are soo gorgeous! Blind, too. I mean, not that I'd been complaining, but they were quite enthralled with me, the ones I had met. Probably my accent though, being English has its merits, aye?

It was, without a doubt, the coolest holiday ever.

My grandmum helped me find an appreciation for chic fashion, sophisticated makeup, and a crisp, cultured accent. Petunia has always spoken like my parents do, she never had confidence problems. But despite coming from a posh family, I always have had issues with confidence – and I only admit this here with the knowledge that no one will be reading this – and so I used to mumble a lot.

Now, I have that upper-class accent that I'd so desperately wished for, thanks to my grandmother's self-esteem boosts. I still don't wear makeup, what good would it do for me anyway? But I do like owning it, and I can't wait to practice my newfound talent on my friends! As for the clothing, I'm a total fanatic. My mum's been pleasantly surprised, since anything's a step up from my grungy, baggy wardrobe from before. Seriously, I sort of shudder to think what I had worn, it was totally shapeless.

That's not to say I wear revealing, cleavage-hinting, or particularly tight shirts and pants.

Whoa, no, I don't have the figure for that… chicken legs, remember?

So basically I've developed a taste for outrageously expensive clothing. Good thing my parents can cater to it, as that's really my only guilty pleasure. Spending obscene amounts of cash to acquire that effortless, Parisian look is well worth the money, as now my cashmere blended pants fit like a dream.

Corduroy, raw silk, taffeta, faded denim, leather, you name it, I probably have it.

Ooh, I'm so excited!

They'll be green with envy when they see my new clothes.

Sigh. Now if only I had my friends' beauty to match my pretty clothing.

Wistful,

Lily