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(Lara)

"Last call for passenger Miss Croft of flight one-sixteen at gate twenty- four. Last call for passenger Miss Croft of flight one-sixteen at gate twenty-four."

Startled, I quickly slammed my book shut and threw open the toilet door. It wasn't my fault that I had lost track of the time, was it? Or that the airport's lavatory was the only place where I could read in complete solitude. Or that Miss Millet was a complete book lover- not. Stupid finishing school, I thought. Stick me in a library and I can be quiet and a lady and all that and even enjoy myself. What was the difference anyway?

Father, I thought bitterly. Father was the problem.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder in the most unladylike position possible (whether intentional or not I couldn't tell), I made a mad dash for gate twenty-four.

"Miss Croft! What do I see? Dresses are for walking in, not for running. And what did I tell you about posture? A lady does not hunch over like some primitive animal." She positively spat out the word, as if it was poisonous. I pretended to guiltily sort out my rumpled, ankle-length skirt, which was the uniform for Millet Swiss Finishing school. It was also the worst possible thing to try running in. A wedding gown might have been a better choice, train, veil and all. Fortunately she hadn't seen the tear.

"That's better," she muttered as if cursing me. From Miss Millet this was almost exuberant praise. Probably only because she had used up every ladylike insult on me already.

I quickly lost myself amongst the others in the line. Miss Millet proceeded to the front. I watched her walking- tiny, mincing steps with the ramrod- straight back which seemingly defied gravity.

We boarded the plane. Being last in line, I had the task of being last of walking down the aisle of the aircraft. Rows and rows and faces and faces.

"She's so lucky,

She's the girl

With the grand, grand, grand

And the rich old man

If there's something missing in her life

It shows, cause all she does is read."

If you were me you'd read too. Personally crumbly pyramids and dusty mummies were better than crumbly school buildings and dusty teachers. Sacrificial rituals to manners and etiquette (not that they weren't necessary). Ancient royalty who grew up to murder their own parents to-

"Father," I whispered out loud.

He was the reason why I ever came to this forsaken place anyway. "My dear, if you are to grow a lady you must then know the basic rules of etiquette." Chew with your mouth shut. Don't talk with your mouth full. Good enough. But to go to a school…

"Lara!"

I glanced up. Rebecca, I realized, relief surging through me.

Rebecca was another forcibly put up pupil (pupils of manners?!!) and my best friend at finishing school. She was also my only friend at finishing school and for the same reason as me- unhappy, misunderstood, and sick of the place. And for the first time in my life I really, truly had someone to call a friend. I'd helped her with some work and in return she taught me odd jobs she'd learned here and there- stealing cars, picking locks, breaking into offices, that sort of thing.

True. We weren't your typical best friends. A lot of our time was spent sitting side by side reading. But we were best friends.

I quickly took my seat next to her, a window seat. Miss Millet had booked the entire flight (though there were only nineteen of us, including her) for the end-of-training ski trip to the Himalayas. Probably to show off some last-minutes etiquette of how to ski with your legs firmly pressed together or something. Anyway the flight was barely a cardboard box on wings.

As expected, we both pumped our walkmans to the max and read. Nothing better than a long, quiet read of archaeology with Nine Inch Nails, I decided cheerfully.

I should've known it was too good to last.