Hi. Sorry for the delay, but honestly, I wasn't quite sure exactly WHAT I wanted to happen, or exactly how I wanted it to happen. But I'm now pretty satisfied with what I've written. Hope you all like it too! Some big steps are taken... ;)
The Ditsy One: Oooooh!!! Yay! New reader! Favorites?! Yay! Thank you!!!!! Lots of exclamation marks!!!!!!!!! Okay!!!
scenester7002: I hope you two will be very happy together. :)
Mrs.Scott323: No, Clarissa certainly won't like that at all. Which makes it all the more enjoyable, lol. And as for Jocelyn, well...I have a feeling you'll like Chapter 38, very much. ;)
And blah, blah, blah, enough of me...
The halls were empty. Completely empty, as Meghan exited the headmaster's office armed with a late note signed by Ratfink himself. The silence made her feel even more surreal than she already was. Because of her, a brilliant girl was about to be expelled.
Was there a way to stop it? Maybe. She knew one thing that might work - leaving. Giving Alastair what he wanted. Maybe that would save Faye from expulsion. In fact, Meghan was quite sure that it would.
But Meghan's first loyalty was to Daphne, and she would NOT leave without letting her father know that she existed. She would not. And she had about a million other reasons why not to leave - it was about the last thing she ever wanted to do.
Besides, it had been Faye's choice to take the blame for that prank. Why she had taken that blame, Meghan could not figure out, but it had still been Faye's prerogative.
All this ran through Meghan's mind as she plodded her way back to class. She was about to turn the corner when she suddenly heard...a noise.
She stopped, and looked straight ahead for a moment, before turning around - to face her worst nightmare.
"Good afternoon, Miss Reynolds." Alastair said casually, with a smirk on his face.
It was all Meghan could do not to draw in a sharp breath. All she could do to hide her intimidation.
"Um, hello." she replied. She wanted to turn away, to keep walking, to vaporize - anything to get out of that stare. But she remained frozen, from head to toe.
"Had a talk with the headmaster, I see." the man commented.
"Yes." Meghan said, before suddenly deciding to indulge her need to be frank. "Why did you try to expel me?"
Alastair just fixated on his inquisitor for a second, before promptly weaseling an answer.
"Why, did not the headmaster discuss that with you? The harassment of my granddaughter is a serious offense."
Meghan chose her words carefully.
"Sir, I haven't committed that offense."
"Ah, my girl, I believe you've proved to be doing quite the contrary, with your...gallivanting,shall we say, with young Lucas."
"You shouldn't have tried to expel me." Meghan said simply. "I haven't done anything wrong. And Faye hasn't either."
"You mean that girl who initiated a childish plot to have my granddaughter covered in fruit juice? It's been reported that she admitted to the incident."
"She lied."
"Oh, did she now?" Alastair sneered with an evil smile, obviously amused. "Whose plan was it then? Yours?"
"No."
"Who then?"
"I don't know."
Mr. Payne was silent. He looked away for a minute, still seemingly relaxed. "Never mind that, Miss Reynolds."
"Meghan."
"Yes. Because believe it or not, that's not what I'm really wondering. What I'm wondering, my friend, is how you were somehow able to acquire a pardon from Lady Dashwood. Now that's a puzzle."
"Yes, it is. But tell her thank you, anyways."
"Would you, perhaps, happen to know why she did this?"
Meghan looked at him for a second. There was no denying the fact that she knew exactly why Jocelyn had pardoned her. And Alastair knew, too. He was challenging her.
"No, I wouldn't. I'm glad she thought that highly of me, but I really haven't done anything to deserve her recognition."
Part of that was a lie. But part of it, Meghan thought sadly, was the truth. That sadness was strong enough to set her back on her way to class.
But Alastair found that he had to know just a bit more.
"Do you live with your mother, Meghan?"
She turned.
"Yes, sir."
"Can I ask what her name might be?"
Meghan looked him straight in the eyes.
"Catherine." she said, without a moment's hesitation. She stared a few seconds later, as if trying to make a confirmation with the man that wouldn't make a difference anyhow. Then, with determination, she spun around, headed straight for French class.
I could agree with Luke, and call the man rubbish. But calling Alastair rubbish would be an insult to rubbish.
And don't even think about telling me I'm being redundant. I am not in the mood.
The thing is, though, when he asked me what my mother's name was, I came to a realization that I should've come to sooner, but didn't, because I am so dense.
Jocelyn thinks I'm Daphne. And Alastair does, too.
Well, not Daphne per se, but...she thinks I'm her granddaughter. Whoa.
But, seriously! Why didn't I think of this sooner?! There must be something very wrong with me. I mean, I'm just Daphne's age. I was born about four months before her, but still - until February, I'll be seventeen. Seventeen.
And, hello? The brown hair doesn't help much either. It's the wrong shade of brown...but still brown.
My cousin, really, doesn't look like either one of her parents alone. She looks like both of them, equally mixed. That's why everyone always has a hard time believing that she's Aunt Libby's daughter, rather than me. Because I look so much like my aunt.
Good grief. I look like Aunt Libby.
I mean, not that that's a BAD thing, but...geez.
It's because of my dad, you know. Since he was her brother, and looked somewhat like her himself.
So, yeah. I'm pretty much right at the center of a huge, swirling mess.
How am I going to do this? Meaning, keep Faye from being expelled.
And deal with the now constant publicity that has been bestowed on me, being the "Unidentified Girlfriend of Lucas Brenshire".
And, oh yeah, tell my cousin's FATHER that he brought a child into the world.
It seems like the only allies I have here now are Luke and, well, Daphne's grandma.
Wait a minute. Daphne's grandma...
It was a rainy Saturday morning in Meghan's current country of residence. It was the first Saturday in about three weeks that she wouldn't be spending with Luke. Or rather, the paparazzi magnet.
Luke, who had been waiting for her the Wednesday before as well as the Thursday and Friday after that to escort her lovingly out of the school and back to the Winthrops' on his scooter, was in for the day, helping his sister plan for an upcoming Christmas ball she'd be holding in about two months.
The boy had been quite comforting to Meghan on that Wednesday, despite the fact that he had no knowledge of her bout with Alastair. He'd been there to protect her ever since that day, from the crowds that gathered to watch and to photograph them. Meghan was sad that she wouldn't be spending the day with him, but also grateful at the same time.
Because today, she had other plans.
She quickly finished her breakfast, which she had with a flabbergasted Laurence and Emma. The couple hadn't been able to contain their surprise and excitement when they'd heard the news about Luke and Meghan, unsure whether to praise or rebuke her. Fortunately, they'd leaned more to the side of praise, unable to find anything wrong, in particular, with the relationship.
Meghan was surprised that they hadn't been alerted of Faye's pending expulsion as of yet - but of course, Faye didn't know about it herself, and Meghan couldn't bear to tell her. All she could do was try to convince her to take back her confession to the bucket prank. So far, that hadn't worked.
The new celebrity couple were about the only thing talked about at meals, therefore - with the exception of Laurence's frustration of his restaurant's reviewing having been postponed for a month. But with that new date quickly approaching, his frustration seemed to be subsiding a bit.
Meghan got up to put her plate in the sink as he blathered on about this, feeling in a bit of a hurry. She then pounded up the stairs.
She was back down in a flash, decked out in a sweater with a red pea coat over it, denim black pants, and a knit beanie hat over her loose hair. Of course, she was questioned as she headed for the door, grabbing an umbrella.
"Meghan, dearie, why are you going out in this weather?"
"Have to see someone. Be back soon." she said briefly, before pushing through and out into the rain. She closed the door behind her, poking the button on the umbrella and making it jump out in front of her. Meghan then made her way down the walk, feeling inside her coat for the outline of a rectangular-shaped object.
Because, maybe, just maybe, she might want to take it out. At some point.
Despite the fact that it terrified her.
She headed determinedly into the drizzle, knowing a pretty formidable walk was in front of her. But the walk didn't intimidate her as much as the destination.
As she slowly reached town, she began to notice people staring at her, which now seemed to be the norm. She walked by a newsstand, not bothering to look, knowing that her face was plastered on the front of most of what was being sold. Either her face, or a manic Clarissa's. Neither of which she cared to see.
She bowed her head and bit the cold, as sharp pinpricks of water hit her face with a sudden gust of wind. Meghan was not about to turn around and go back.
As she passed the academy, she noticed the rain slowly starting to let up, though the wind kept on relentlessly, kicking up her hair and making it thrash wildly. Sooner than she might've liked, she found herself in the high class neighborhood once again, and she willed herself to look up. She felt strange not to be going to the Brenshire mansion. But those feelings could be set aside.
Reading "Dashwood" on the gold plate mounted to the wall made Meghan's heart leap into her throat. Her stomach lurched, and her face felt hot despite the icy rain. She stood there for a moment, staring. Staring at the palace she'd seen in pictures, not knowing what to do next.
"Can I help you, miss?" came a voice.
Meghan turned to a uniformed man behind the gate, startled, and immediately choked on her words.
"I-I, uh, I need to s-see...Lady Dashwood."
"Do you have an appointment?" the man asked her.
"No."
"Then I'm sorry."
"Can I make an appointment?"
"No. You'd have to arrange a meeting with her personally."
"Well...can I have her phone number?"
"No."
"Can I write a letter?"
"Are you a personal contact?"
"No."
"Then again, I'm sorry."
"What am I supposed to do, then?" Meghan asked, frustrated.
"Don't ask me. I don't make the rules. I just enforce them."
Meghan stared at the house again.
"Alright." she said, resigning to what the man had told her. She turned, and started back.
Meghan then heard a cell phone ring. She ignored it and kept walking.
She heard the man exclaim in surprise. She ignored it and kept walking.
But then she heard something else.
"Miss!" the man shouted. "Miss!"
Meghan turned. And she saw the gates. They were opening.