Okay, here are the next two chapters! Hope you like them! And thanks to everyone for their thoughts on Clarissa - I'll give those ideas serious consideration ;)

I guess that small amount of time that Clarissa wasn't really bothering me too much was the calm before the storm, or something.

Because now, she was absolutely putting the kibosh on me.

I'll paint you a picture. It started in PE class, my second class of the day. I opened my other locker that was specifically for that class, in a room full of other PE lockers and other girls opening them. To my surprise, as I pull out my skimpy tank top and shorts, I find that they are absolutely destroyed. My tank top is cut into strips up to the collar, which holds the strips together, making it look like a hula skirt. As for the shorts, they had a big, gaping hole - right in the crotch.

All the safety pins in the world couldn't have fixed this mess.

I knew who had done it, though I didn't know how, since I hadn't told anyone my lock combination, and on top of that, Clarissa wasn't even in my PE class. There was only one explanation: a mole. In my midst. Most likely, one of her snotty friends. She certainly had enough of them.

To the sound of numerous giggles, I took the ruined outfit up to the supervisor, who had her own, special enclosure in the locker room.

"What have you done to your uniform?!" she barked when she saw it.

"Nothing." I told her. "Someone cut it up."

Of course, she didn't buy it.

"Right, I'm sure. You couldn't have possibly done this for the fact that you'd much rather wear "sweat-pants" and a "tee-shirt".

Oh, please.

"I really didn't do this. Honest."

She sniffed.

"Yes, well, don't think this little protest is going to get you anywhere. You'll just have to wear the spare."

"The spare?"

"The spare."

The crude woman reached under her desk, and pulled out a uniform just like the one I'd had before - only grungier, and about three sizes too big. Honestly, I could've fit two of me in that tank top. Both of my legs fit loosely through one side of the shorts.

And of course, there were no pins. So guess what I had to use?

Scotch tape.

From my book bag.

I kid you not. I had to fold the straps of the top and the sides of shorts, with three layers of tape, just so it would stick. Ridiculous, I know.

And as for the waistband, I had to use my belt. The belt I used with my regular uniform. And even then, the shorts wanted to fall down. So here I was, holding the shorts up with one hand as I plodded into the gym, where the rest of the class was waiting. Let me tell you, there were snickers galore. And not the chocolate kind.

I'm almost sure I saw someone take a picture with a cell phone, even though cell phones were BANNED from the premises.

And just my luck, the sport of the day was BADMINTON. Imagine me, jumping in the air, still holding on to my shorts while I try to smack a ridiculous-looking funnel thingy. I was a three-ring circus. People were on the floor, literally rolling at how incredibly bogus I looked. Even the teacher was laughing.

Then, as I return to the locker room, sweaty and out of sorts, the supervisor comes up to me, trying to contain her laughter.

"Well now, I guess you learned your lesson."

One of the pieces of tape on strap of my tank top comes unstuck.

"Be sure to bring twenty-five pounds in tomorrow. For a new uniform."

I just turned, and walked to my locker. What else could I do?

My problems didn't end there. Not that I thought they would.

I go into Ms. Blarf's class, and sit in my seat. I hear giggles in the back.

"Reynolds!" comes that dreadful voice. "Millicent tells me you looked absolutely stunning in Physical Ed today. Tell me, how did you do it? Did you finally get some surgery, to fix that hideous face?"

I drummed my fingers on my desk.

"Just a tip, Marian." she goes on. "Wearing a gym suit that's too big for you won't make you look any less fat."

You know my name. You know Faye's name. You know everyone's name, because you're just THAT nosy. So just quit the farce, already. I thought.

But I didn't say anything. Because I knew that in about a minute, she wouldn't be able to throw any more insults for at least an hour. The teacher would start droning her roll call, write some past and present participles on the board, and expect us to use them each in ten sentences or something while she stared at her computer and ate bagels.

That's what happened. And we wrote. And it was quiet. And I was able to find a little solace.

But when the bell rang, and I got up, the solace was immediately shattered.

Laughing.

More laughing.

More infernal laughing.

"What's that on your skirt?"

"Look at that mess!"

Immediately, I drew in my breath. I felt the back of my skirt, thinking the worst. What I felt was some kind of gooey, sticky substance.

Ironically, it wasn't the worst. But it was pretty darn close.

"Miss Reynolds." said Ms. Bladder. "What in all this world possessed you to smear molasses on your skirt?"

So that's what it was. Of course, I couldn't answer. I just took off my navy uniform jacket, tied it around my waist, picked up my bag, and waltzed out.

Meghan once again sat down with Faye and her friends. She was in deep thought about how she was going to keep the tarantulas out of her locker, how she was going to get twenty-five pounds, and how she was going to get the molasses stain out of her skirt.

Of course, Faye and the rest had been puzzled as to why she was wearing her jacket around her waist, until she'd told them. So they were once again ranting and raving about how horrid and despicable Clarissa was, but Meghan wasn't listening. She already knew how bad Clarissa was - what she didn't know was whether or not she was handling her correctly.

She had something in her possession that could send Clarissa's empire tumbling down, that could end her tyrannical rule in an instant. But she had to go about things a certain way, and bringing down Clarissa was not the objective. It was just something that would inevitably happen. The real purpose of revealing the truth was to help Daphne - not to get revenge against her evil stepsister.

And it wasn't like she could just get on top of one of the tables and shout Daphne's lineage to the heavens. That would only embarrass everyone involved. No, she had to speak to someone privately. Either the man himself, or, as a second choice, his mother.

But how to even do that. They lived in a palace, really. With guards. And Clarissa. And big stone surrounding walls. And Clarissa. And iron gates. And Clarissa.

Meghan hadn't seen the residence in person, but Aunt Libby had shown her pictures. It was one of the few things that the woman had allowed her to see.

Anyhow, what was to be done? And would she have the courage when the time came to do it? As of this time, Meghan felt totally and completely alone. She couldn't talk to Daphne, and even if she could, how could she tell her or her mother about the pending marriage, or about the evils that came with it?

There was nothing she could say or do against Clarissa Payne, because for the time being, she had no ground to stand on. With the way she had manipulated the whole locker situation, she could probably have Meghan expelled if she really wanted to. The odds were in her favor.

But Meghan didn't want to be expelled. Because despite all of the rising problems, she didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay, more badly than anything in the world, she wanted to stay.

Though Clarissa was manipulating a lot of things, there was one thing that Meghan was manipulating: the mind of Lucas Brenshire.

He honestly didn't know what it was about her that was causing him to think this way. He just knew that no other girl had ever given him that feeling. It was five days ago that he had given her his business card, and he was nervous. He was almost sure that she didn't plan on calling at all.

Ian had told him that day, that he'd spoken with her. That had only made him more sure that she wanted nothing to do with him. But he wasn't quite willing to let her go. Why?

Because of the reason she wasn't calling. It wasn't because she wasn't interested, or because she'd thought he was rude. It was because she thought he was deceiving her. She thought he was just another snob who thought he was too good for her.

And maybe if she knew the truth about him, he might have a chance with her. Maybe things would change.

It was all about his name. Brenshire. Sometimes, he almost despised his name. It put him in a world he cared nothing about.

Sure, he loved his country. But he knew he wasn't fit for parliament.

And sure, he liked sophistication. But his kind of sophistication had nothing to do with caviar, or debutante balls, or stepping on "commoners".

His kind of sophistication meant being a gentleman, having an open mind, having knowledge but not being a know-it-all. The rich, frivolous, extravagant world he lived in was almost too superficial for him to handle. And he knew only a few people who understood that.

Something told him, however, that Meghan would understand.

So, he was going to try again. And again. And again. He wouldn't rest until she knew who he really was. He just wasn't the type of person to not care about someone thinking him indecent. Maybe there was something wrong with him for thinking like that, but really, he didn't care. If that was wrong, he didn't want to be right.