Yes, I'm an idiot. We all know this.

However, this idiot has two chapters up and ready to read, and the next two will be up this Wednesday. That's right, Wednesday. Read on and rock on, friends.

The Ditsy One: Actually, Alistair probably would've helped Clarissa, had he known what she was doing. Your wait is over! :)

Mrs.Scott323: I didn't know either, lol. Clarissa will get her come-uppings eventually, no worries. And i've always wondered about her father too! Hmmm, maybe I should think about that... ;)

Mari324: :) Thanks, glad I gave you a surprise.

Call Me Mimzy: Ooh, good idea with the double-team thing lol. You're going to like the next few chapters.

iccy: YAY NEW REVIEWER! Thank you so much, I'm so glad you like it! :) Lots of happy faces...

One sentence - no, one question, echoed throughout my mind. It replayed itself, over and over, for an incredibly long time. I couldn't shut it off, I couldn't stop it. One question.

How could she?

Surprisingly and tragically, the "she" I'm referring to is not Clarissa Payne, whose blood contains the evils of a thousand wolverines and a rabid cat for good measure, as it speeds through her veins and powers her conniving mind. Not Clarissa, who'd just accused my parents of being trailer trash. And let me assure you, she'd certainly pushed a red button on Meghan Reynolds by doing so.

But someone else had pushed it, and today, that person had pushed harder. How can you push harder? By doing it out of the blue. Because you're supposed to be a good person.

And I used to think that Faye Alexandria Winthrop was a good person.

How could she.

It's a very strange feeling. Like, almost as if you have more resentment for someone who used to be your friend than you do for the people who were always against you.

Faye was never my best friend. Daphne is my best friend. But I still thought we had something, me and Faye. A little bond, maybe. For a while, I'd felt a camaraderie between us, being that were both outcasts, and both rebels against the general rich/noble majority at Jasperstone Academy. Like me, she was taunted and pushed around. And like me, she still kept going.

But she'd never stood up for herself. It was ME who stood up for her. And when I'd decided, on my own accord, to lower the cannons I'd raised toward Clarissa, she'd been unhappy. They'd all been unhappy.

Why? Why did they have such a problem with me? Why do such ridiculous standards exist, at that school and everywhere else?

I know. That's life, right?

But how could she.

I couldn't for the life of me believe that she had known the whole time. That my cousin was the daughter of one of the most prominent politicians in Faye's country. Was that the reason why she'd been all weird? When had she found out? How did she find out? I didn't know.

Faye had no reason to be weird. To feel weird. I mean, I know it must have been surprising to find out.

But she could've just talked to me. Even if I was a little ticked at first, I would've understood eventually. I would have.

But she kept it all to herself.

Just like she keeps everything all to herself! All bottled up inside, constantly, all day and night! No wonder she ended up so depressed. After I came along, that is.

But I am SICK and TIRED of blaming myself for Faye's misery. I didn't cause her to find out about Daphne. I didn't cause the near expulsion that she never even found out about. I didn't cause the rats. And I didn't cause Faye to be tortured by Clarissa.

Hey! You know what? For the first time, I've finally realized - it's not my fault! None of this is my fault!

Has my coming to England caused a stir? Yes.

Chaos? Uh, yeah.

But it's necessary chaos, because I had to come here. Meghan Reynolds had to come to England, so that Henry Dashwood would know he had a daughter. And with any luck, he now knows that this daughter isn't, um, oh yeah: ME.

But that depends on how much the man heard.

A lot of bad things are happening due to my presence. I wish these things weren't happening. But there is no other way.

Faye was right about one thing. She really should've stood up for herself a long time ago.

But not by waving my cousin's birth certificate in the air.

I'm sorry, Faye. I really am. But I'm not in the wrong here. You are.

He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what he thought he'd been thinking before. He didn't know if what he was thinking now was or should be any different from what he'd thought before.

Henry was confused.

It was a gray-area sort of feeling. A...theory of his, shall we say, had basically just been proved false. Or had it? He may not have thought it in the first place. And really, it was not something he should be having any problem with.

But...did he have a problem with it? Was this blank, dull, boring feeling a problem?

It shouldn't have been. He'd dealt with it for close to eighteen years.

No. Stay away from there! Mustn't think in that direction. Ah, there we go. Think of something else. This paper. Now what does it say?

"The deficit for the previous year has been shown to have expanded this present year by 37.9 percent..."

Oh, who cared. Henry leaned into his hands, rubbing his forehead.

Why was it so bloody hard to concentrate?!

He took a sip of coffee, and thought perhaps that it tasted bitter, but wasn't quite sure.

Such boredom this was. My, this desk was messy. It looked nothing like Alistair's. Alistair's desk was always neat.

Wait, what? What did he care how Alistair's desk looked?! Alistair worked for him! Ha, right. Alistair worked for himself. His own bald self. Was there a fly in here?

A number. If only he'd had her number. Then there wouldn't be this mess...

Thinking again! Must not think! Must read, drink coffee...

"Henry?"

Mother.

"Yes?"

"Are you feeling alright?"

He looked up to see Jocelyn, standing in his doorway.

"Yes, Mother, I'm fine. Just busy, is all."

"Why don't you take a break, dear? Have some tea?"

"I would love to, Mum, I really would, but I simply must get back to work. I've been a little too heavy on the chess and the tea sandwiches lately."

Jocelyn looked on for a few seconds, disappointed, before turning to continue down the hall. Well, that was that. Maybe there was something on the telly.

Alistair was confused as well. But maybe, perhaps, not in quite the same way.

He'd only just hours ago seen that abomination of an exchange student in what must've been her natural, primal state - yelling like a banshee. Most of what she'd yelled, as far as words went, had escaped his comprehension. But he'd heard enough of a last little bit to cause him to do some mulling over.

It was simply pathetic, he thought, that the girl had such control over his ideas and actions. But he knew he was smarter than she was.

The screaming had been directed at his granddaughter, who Alistair knew had provoked the beast in some way. He'd specifically warned her against doing that, and her disregard of such warning made Alistair somewhat annoyed and, admittedly, a bit uneasy.

At the same time, however, could he really blame Clarissa? Never mind all the trouble that Miss Reynolds had caused - just the fact that she was such an obnoxious wretch all around was reason enough to want to taunt and pick at her. The girl was asking for it.

But never mind his darling daughter's daughter. The fact of the matter was, what he'd caught in the screams had gone completely against what he'd had Meghan Reynolds pinned as being.

She'd screamed that her father was a lost soul in Kosovo.

The thing was, as far as Alistair knew, Henry Dashwood was at this moment rotting away in his office. Which was nowhere near Kosovo.

Hence the conflict of thought.

Say the girl was telling the truth. One thing she did have going for her was that at the time she'd uttered those words, she'd been oblivious to the fact that he and Henry were even there. Therefore, she'd have had no reason to really go into any detail as to who her father was. To have said, "He's with my mother, at home, incessantly inhaling cheeseburgers." would've been sufficient enough as a lie. So, due to the detail she had in fact put into her testimony, she may have actually been telling the truth. If so, should he feel relieved, indifferent, or perhaps even a bit ridiculous?

But then again! Wouldn't that be exactly what she'd want him to think? Maybe she'd come up with this "Kosovo" story long beforehand, just to prepare for the scenario in which she was questioned of her paternity before she was ready to answer truthfully, to drop her exploding grenade? One thing was for sure, she certainly wouldn't have just come out and told Clarissa such a truth.

Hold on. Would she, on second thought? Because in certain perspectives, the "truth" could be looked at as revenge toward Clarissa, whom he knew Miss Reynolds must hate with a passion. Clarissa would be devastated, as well as enraged, were she to discover that her soon-to-be stepfather had a biological child.

Which he did.

The question was, was this child the brown-haired cretin that was at this very time not only in London, but living and attending school here and making Alistair's life a living nightmare all the while - or was it someone else?

It was impossible to know. Should he, regardless of the circumstances, still try to find collateral that could "expose" Meghan Reynolds...or would he just be wasting his time?

Alistair only wished that things could be as before, in which he spent his days, when not working, lazily daydreaming. Daydreaming of his pending rise to even higher status, and wallowing in the pleasure of his sickishly vile fantasies of stretch marks, adoption agencies, or most enjoyably...quicker solutions.

How he missed those golden years.