First and foremost: If you are reading this, thank you. You are incredible.

Second: I realize there's nothing much I can say for myself. I've been ashamed for such a long time, worried my heart couldn't be in this anymore, focusing on anything and everything else. But I've finally realized that regardless of what an a*s I've made of myself, I should finish what I started, and finish it properly.

So here's what I've got. I'm grateful to anyone who reads it.

Thanks also to RandomRiter for giving me the jolt I needed.

It was interesting, I thought, to ride in a shiny black luxury car belonging to your cousin's dad, alone, in your Jasperstone uniform, wringing you hands, until said car stopped about a block away from the school, where you were to step out and start walking toward that school, while still nervously wringing your hands.

That's right. I think in run-on sentences. Or floating bits, one of the two. In case you hadn't noticed.

I won't bother telling you about the gawking stares I received, like usual, as I walked alone through the imposing gates. Oh, wait, I just did...well, it would have gone without saying, anyway.

Now, I was the EX of Lucas Brenshire. The one who'd been kicked to the curb and ground in with a gleaming leather shoe. Always another reason for all eyes to be on Meghan Reynolds. I would say that I was sick of it, but today the stares seemed trivial.

I had no idea what the day would bring. Enough pity to make me lose breakfast? Probably. But other than that, I was clueless. What would happen when I saw Clarissa? I hoped with all of my heart that the trauma of her stepsister's existence would keep her not only away from the mansion, but out of the learning establishment as well. Just away from me, in general. I was terrified of her.

I went through my first class fidgeting with apprehension, and it didn't let up for PE...if anything, it got worse. A couple of girls had it in for me, and when we paraded into the gym to start with our current unit - basketball - I was hit with glares as well as stares. And soon enough, I was hit with bright orange sports equipment. Twice.

But they were only accidents. From the instructor's point of view, at least.

I knew then that Clarissa had broken Lord Dashwood's rule. She had most likely spilled, to some members of her herd. In truth, I probably would've done the same thing in her position, confiding my secrets in a couple of my closest gal-pals.

But then, I didn't associate with bullies and nimrods.

And I'd never tell a secret to someone if I couldn't presume, with absolute certainty, that they'd keep it safe.

Of course, those who palled around with Clarissa did have to consider the near-fatal consequences (i.e. what she'd do to them) if they made the world know what was going down - therefore humiliating her. So I wasn't exactly expecting a huge uproar to occur at any second. If one did, I'd probably end up causing it myself.

So for now, at least, the jabs would be subtle. I tried to gather a little comfort from that...and wasn't very successful. My mind was in complete disarray.

I was even more of a nervous wreck as I neared Ms. Blithe's classroom - this being despite knowing that, if Clarissa were even in there, she couldn't really do much against me without making a complete fool of herself. And her number one priority, most times, seemed to be keeping herself from being made a fool. It was right up there with making fools of everyone else.

As I turned the door handle and stepped in, I delayed my own breathing without realizing it. I noticed that somehow, in the last few months, all of my New York gutsiness had been robbed of me.

There she was, in her usual seat. In the few seconds I allowed my eyes to take her in before I averted them, I saw that she was bent over her desk, writing something.

Probably another scheming threat in the form of a lame excuse for prose. I thought.

I took my seat. The assignment for today was written on the board: we were to write an essay about the difference between coincidence and luck. I knew better than to analyze that too deeply; I wouldn't really need to, anyway, because Ms. Blithe looked to be asleep on top of her desk. Her face was planted in her folded arms, and her shoulder pads rose and fell in an even rhythm.

I started to write aimlessly, but strangely, the topic overtook me. Soon I was writing an opinion piece, which I'm sure wasn't the desired format for this particular essay...but I didn't care. I felt so robbed of a voice.

Fifty or so minutes later, I still hadn't received any threatening notes. I was just barely able to finish the essay before the bell rang, and you should have seen Ms. Blithe jump from her slumber at the noise.

"I...I want everything on my desk, whether you've finished or not." she stammered, her words slurring a bit with her drowsiness.

We did as we were told, though I was careful to remain a safe distance from blonde, letting her brood shuffle out the door long before I approached it. When I did, I was surprised to see Clarissa in the hallway looking straight at me, over her shoulder as she walked.

For about two seconds, I glimpsed a look I'd never seen on her before. She turned away, however, before I could analyze, and quickened her pace down the hall.

I wondered if I'd imagined that look as I started toward my next drudgery of a class.

The lunch hour had come, after two more grueling classes. I wasn't sure if this was good or bad. It wasn't as if I'd get a break from people staring holes into the back of my head. And no one properly used enough authority to stop anyone from taunting poor saps out in the courtyard. Maybe they thought it toughened girls up, or whatever.

I was about to reluctantly join the lunch line when I heard the loudspeaker.

"Meghan Reynolds, please report to the headmaster's office."

Great. Just great. They're going to expel me because I disrupted the peace by dating an aristocrat and then later had that aristocrat make out with another girl at a ball which only further served to disrupt the peace.

Or worse. Maybe Alistair was there.

Maybe right now, he was binding Mr. Raspron's hands and feet and putting a gag in his mouth and shoving him into a broom closet before making his bald self comfortable in the tufted swivel chair, so that when I came in and stopped just inside the doorway and murmured, "Sir, you wanted to see me?", the chair would swivel around dramatically and there would be Shakespeare with Evil Sauce, his eyes bulging like those of a hungry rat. He would then laugh in a disturbing way.

I truly was paranoid.

Turns out, what awaited me in the headmaster's office was neither of those things, nor was it anything else I could have ever thought to expect. Mr. Raspron was not trapped with a mop and bucket, and he wasn't preparing to stamp red ink all over my transcript. He only had a question.

"Miss Reynolds," he began, addressing me from where he sat behind his desk, "How interested would you be in attending Oxford University?"

Luke didn't often use his last name to his advantage. Sure, there were the "perks" that inevitably came with it - the money, the prestige, the glittering balls - but he rarely deliberately used "Brenshire" as a source of power over anyone else. Today, to an extent, was one of those rare times he did.

If anyone else had simply risen from his seat in the middle of class and walked out, they would have been pursued, and asked of what had given them the urge to do so. When he did this, the teacher only paused for a moment before resuming his lecture.

If anyone else had trounced through the halls at a flustered pace without a hall pass, passing teachers who strolled by and monitors who stood watch, they would've been stopped by some person or another within seconds. When he did this, the teachers strolled on, seemingly oblivious. The monitors stared at the walls.

If anyone else had pushed on through the gigantic double doors at the entrance to The Morris Brenshire School for Boys, someone burly would've come out and pulled him back in. When he did this, the guard at the front gate only watched him with curiosity. Furthermore, the large gate doors themselves slowly opened. No questions asked by anyone, anywhere. He was Lucas Brenshire. There must be good reason.

The reason was that all through his classes, Luke had been thinking nothing but "Meghan, Meghan, Meghan." He'd been drumming his fingers anxiously through every lesson, especially after he'd decided on his plan.

The Jasperstone lunch break and the Morris lunch break were strategically held at different times. Jasperstone's was at 12:00, Morris's at 1:00. This was done to prevent boys from coming across to mingle and meander with girls, and vice-versa, which had happened in the past, despite the imposing stone walls.

It had been at approximately 12:20 that Luke had left his class, forty minutes before its end. He doubted he would have to climb any walls, but if it came to that, he'd give it a try. He was going to speak with Meghan, and this might be his only chance. He didn't care what anyone at Jasperstone thought. This was the only window of time in which she wouldn't be guarded or hidden by someone else, and he wouldn't be impeded by crowds or cars or both.

As he'd predicted, even the Jasperstone gates easily opened for him. He had only to make eye contact with the guard, who gave him a curious look in return but nonetheless didn't hesitate to grant access. Luke immediately came through and started straight for the back courtyard. He knew she'd be there. He'd seen her come to school.

But she wasn't there. Not in her usual place by the fountain, where she'd told him she'd been banished. Not anywhere. And now, of course, hundreds of shocked eyes were on him.

Luke grabbed at his collar, and nervous heat came over his face. He looked to the bench by the fountain again. Two girls sat there: the girl from Hong Kong, and Faye. He quickly walked to them.

"Faye," he hissed frantically. "Where is Meghan?"

Faye had paused in the middle of chewing on a bite of sandwich. She swallowed and replied, matter-of-factly,

"She got called to the headmaster's."

Luke looked this way and that, running his fingers through his hair, trying to decide whether or not he should go on in. It would be a risky thing, going in to interrupt whatever conversation was being had. If Headmaster Raspron was missing lunch, it must be something important. Luke was sure he wouldn't be allowed a word with Meghan, and word would get back to his family and numerous other people about his having disrespected authority. But she might be in there for the rest of the lunch hour, and he knew he couldn't wait out here in the courtyard. Everyone was staring at him. Soon, he'd be questioned. Luke was torn.

But before he could make a decision, the flashes commenced. He turned around and saw that a number of paparazzi clowns had seen him leave school and had followed him onto the Jasperstone campus. Paparazzi were amazingly good at scaling walls when there was dirt to be collected. Luke had forgotten about them.

Immediately, he bolted into the cafeteria, closed the doors behind him, and sunk down. All who were cooking and cleaning froze in their acts.

"What are you staring at?" he asked them.