It was early Tuesday morning. A young man stood leaning against a stone wall, staring at a palm pilot. He looked up for a moment and scanned the busy area, then looked at his watch. He was waiting for someone.
All at once, a black car pulled up right near where he was standing, and another young man stepped out, dressed much the same as the first. He ran his fingers through his blonde, curly locks of hair and chuckled.
"Staring at that palm pilot again, are we, Luke?"
A smirk spread across the face of the copper-haired one who'd just been teased.
"What else am I expected to do, John, while I'm waiting for you to show up?" he countered.
"Well put, my friend. I suppose we all have our faults - mine happens to be tardiness. Yours happens to be stuffiness."
There was a grimace.
"Stuffy? Me?"
"It's true! Always with your nose in some book or toying with some object - you neglect to remember that not everyone has the funds to go blowing frivolously on unnecessary gadgets."
"Oh, don't give me that. You're as filthy rich as everyone else in this dump of a school, and you can't deny it."
The golden-haired boy shook his head.
"Honestly, I just don't understand you, Lucas Brenshire. You've got all the girls chasing after you, just the sight of you brings all the debs to their knees, yet all you can ever be bothered with is the day's agenda. Or if not that, then your fingers are glued to your guitar..."
He finally quit his jabbering long enough to notice that his friend's eyes were no longer fixated on his handheld device, but on something else.
Looking in the direction of the stare, he was puzzled to find that it came to a rest on a girl in Jasperstone uniform, walking quite a few yards from where they stood. He gave his friend a look of perplexion.
"Why are you staring at Faye Winthrop?"
At first, there was no reply. A thought process seemed to be taking place. Then, the curious one opened his mouth to speak.
"Faye Winthrop, you said?"
"Yes, the girl in braids. I believe her mother planned the Harrison wedding."
"Wait, no. Who is that girl with her?"
John looked again. He then noticed a rather petite girl with short, wavy brown hair in layers blowing in the breeze. She walked alongside the other who was initially mentioned, and also looked to be headed for JS Academy.
Another moment of thought occurred, as the more talkative of the two young men worked to place the girl's identity. Suddenly, he laughed.
"Oh, that must be the new exchange student from the States! The one who crashed straight into Clarissa Payne just yesterday! Everyone's been talking about her!"
John was given a funny look.
"Do you know her name?"
"Not...quite sure. Something with a K, I believe. Or possibly a T..."
Realizing he'd never get a relevant answer, the one with the gadget stopped listening. And it was just as well, because his friend's voice was soon drowned out by a loud, irritating ringing.
The palm pilot was put away, and the two boys straightened their navy jackets as they turned through the gate toward their place of education. For a second, however, the brown-haired boy couldn't help but steal one last glance...
"You honestly expect me to go in there?"
Two girls stood in front of a door with "Headmaster" labeled across it in bold, black letters.
"Why not? I was in there just yesterday!"
"I know, but the word 'Headmaster'...I dunno, it just sounds a little intimidating."
Faye pondered that for a moment.
"Regardless, Meghan, you have to go in there. To pick up your class schedule. You can't stay with me today - "
"I know, Faye, you told me that. But I'm a little nervous to go in there."
"Oh, bother, there's nothing to be scared of! Go on! Off with you!"
Faye even went so far as to give Meghan a gentle push, through the door as she opened it.
"Alright! Fine! Have it your way." Meghan smoothed her skirt and marched on in.
Inside, there was a desk, where a middle-aged woman with glasses sat reading something. Meghan walked up to this desk, still a bit apprehensive.
"Excuse me."
The woman looked up.
"Uh...my name is Meghan Reynolds, I'm an exchange student. I'm here to pick up my classes."
Immediately, the one with glasses smiled, and Meghan was instantly calmed. The smile was warm and welcoming.
"Ah, yes. Let me get that for you, dear."
Meghan was glad that the person giving her the schedule was not doing so with malice. She watched the sweet lady get up from her seat and go into a room somewhere in the back. As she turned to lean against the desk while she waited, and interesting sight met Meghan's eyes.
On the wall, right next to the door through which she had come, was a painting. This painting was a large painting, and was almost as tall, if not taller, than Meghan was. In it was a picture of a very regal-looking woman. And seeing this picture of such a woman struck a sharp note in Meghan's mind.
Man...I know I've seen you somewhere...
The schoolgirl went closer. With each step, the woman in the portrait kept on with her dignified stare. She was wearing a lavender bluish beaded dress. Grey hair touched her ears, and a sparkling tiara graced her head. Meghan could even see a bit of a smile radiating from the woman's face, making her persona seem proud but not at all arrogant or cold. Her mind raced as she tried to think of a name, but none came.
Suddenly, a bit of a glint caught her eye. It came from a gold plate that was screwed into the wall directly beneath the painting. It was engraved. Meghan bent in to read it.
Lady Jocelyn Abigail Landers-Dashwood
Graduate of the Jasperstone Academy for Girls
Class of 1951-1955
Wow. That was a very long name. But it certainly gave Meghan her answer.
This must be...
"One moment!" she heard the woman call from the back. "I'm having a little trouble finding your papers."
"It's alright." Meghan said vaguely, eyes still fixated on the woman. Again, she had been hit with surprise. But this time, it wasn't so bad. She now knew what an honor it truly was to be attending this school.
You have a granddaughter. Meghan thought. And I'm the only one in this entire country who knows it.
It was funny how people in this family kept turning up absolutely everywhere in Meghan's life. Everywhere.
"It's a beautiful portrait, isn't it?"
Meghan quickly turned, startled. She immediately saw the kind office woman, standing right near the desk with a schedule in hand.
"Oh, yeah, I - guess it is." Meghan answered.
"Such a wonderful woman. Was a Jasperstone student herself. She still loves the school dearly. Comes to visit about every few months."
"Visit?"
"Oh, yes. Loves to see how things are going. She's a very generous benefactor to the school as well. Donated three thousand pounds just last year, some scholarships too. It's nice to see someone actually putting wealth to good use."
Well. This was interesting.
"Here's your schedule, miss."
"Oh! Thank you." Meghan immediately took the paper.
"I wish you luck. It may be scary at first, but if you try hard enough, you should do well."
Meghan smiled.
"Thanks - for the advice, I mean." she said. She began to walk toward the door.
"By the way," she said quickly, turning back for a brief moment. "Are you the headmaster?"
The woman chuckled.
"Oh, no. That would be Mr. Raspron. His room is in the back."
Meghan's face went a little crestfallen. It didn't really matter,
though - hopefully, she wouldn't be coming to this office again.
She turned back, and looked at the painting one last time. Meghan smiled.
I will meet you soon. I promise you that.
At that very moment, Meghan suddenly heard a crash in the background, and what she believed to be a British expletive. She ran out the door.
You know what? This is just great. Brilliant. Fantastic. Not.
Why the sarcasm, you ask? Don't worry, I have an excellent reason.
I just found out that I have to take a PHYSICAL EDUCATION CLASS. This is screwy for me, because I thought I'd been finished with that - ever since the eighth grade. See, at my high school, they got rid of the physical education class, because it was costing them too much money. Plus, they found out that the female PE locker room supervisor was actually a cross-dresser. But hey, that's what you get for being desperate, as they were, and hiring some new guy on the spot for a lower salary. I've heard that his high, girly voice was actually quite convincing.
ANYWAY, I'm very ticked off. Even Faye doesn't have to take this class, because her grades are so high that they let her opt out.
So today, I was given this very ugly PE uniform that consisted of a tank top and super short shorts. It, like my regular uniform, is navy and red. I asked them if I could wear sweat pants and a t-shirt instead - you can guess their reply.
And that's not everything.
I also found out that I, too, have Mr. Harlison. Though it's a lower level math class than Faye's, I'm still very annoyed because the level of math has no effect on the haughtiness of that idiot teacher. If anything, he's even worse.
I want some eggrolls. Please, somebody, get me some eggrolls. Or pizza. That will do.