Meghan's face took on a look of utter confusion as she sat opposite the headmaster, her hands fingering the hem of her plaid uniform skirt.

"Uh...what?"

Mr. Raspron's impending grin was trying desperately to make itself known. He knew this would be a shock, one hard to comprehend...and the look on the girl's face was quite amusing.

"Just what I said. You did hear me correctly...?"

Meghan drew back, blinking quickly, trying to digest the situation.

"Yes, I heard, but...why would you ask me that?"

A chuckle.

"Because apparently, the institution I've just mentioned is highly interested in you."

He placed a sealed envelope in front of her, one that bore the Oxford crest in the upper corner. Meghan gazed at it for a second. She remained puzzled.

"Again, why?"

"Someone brought your name to their attention, and for some reason they're intrigued."

Meghan thought about this, and a slow half-smile started to form.

"Lady Dashwood?"

Mr. Raspron smiled back, though his expression was strange.

"Well, yes, she's involved, for reasons that are beyond me. But she's not the one I'm referring to."

"Then who?"

"Prudence Blithe."

Meghan was again taken aback. Ms. Blithe? The exceptionally heavy sleeper who was also exceptionally dull and exceptionally rigid? Impossible!

"What? How? No way." Meghan couldn't stop herself from blurting surprised interjections.

"Ah, I couldn't believe it either. But it was she herself who referred you to them initially. Apparently, you're an excellent writer, and your cumulative grades have skyrocketed since you've arrived here."

Meghan stared downward, shaking her head. None of this was making sense. Ms. Blithe never cared about how well anyone wrote; she cared only about grammatical mistakes, which she would scout out like a bloodhound when correcting assignments, never hesitating to bark. The bulky woman was so disinterested during class time that Meghan rarely saw her awake past the twenty minute mark, unless of course some Payne or another was entertaining her. And as for Meghan's grades? They'd always, always been just good enough, and nothing more.

"I...really don't believe this. There must be a mix-up or something."

"Not so. Prudence submitted your work to the university, admittedly without much hope. But as you gained...notoriety, they started to re-examine you. For some strange reason this led them to contact Lady Dashwood who, curiously enough, endorsed you. Now, in case you weren't aware of this, Miss Reynolds, both her son and her late husband were alumnus of the university and the family continues to be a major benefactor. If a Dashwood endorses you, you're in, irrefutably."

Why on Earth would Ms. Blithe care where Meghan continued her education? Why would Lady Dashwood put in such a good word without a valid reason? Why would she then not say anything about it?

"So, that said - what's your answer?"

Meghan looked up.

"What?"

"You haven't answered my question. Would you be interested?"

He picked up the envelope and held it out to her.

Since when is he so friendly and generous? Is he getting a cut of the university funds? Meghan thought.

"Take it, at least. Think about it."

But there was nothing to think about. Maybe Jocelyn had thought she was...well, Daphne, when she'd made that so-called "endorsement". In any case, however, the entire thing was ridiculous. Out of her price-range and out of her mind-range. Out of the question.

"I - I can't..."

That very second, a piercing noise filled the room.

Lyle, the head chef at Jasperstone Academy (yes, that's right, the head chef of school lunches), was an extraordinary cook with a passion for food. He considered his work an art form, one which he took very seriously. Therefore, when he was in the midst of creating something delicious, it was insisted on that there be no distractions to drive him from his focus. His one main flaw: he was easily distracted.

Which is why, while he was preparing something that involved hot oil and an open flame, it was not the ideal moment for a junior aristocrat to burst in unannounced, followed by several flashing cameras that bashed into the kitchen door like crows flying into a clean glass window.

Before anyone knew what was happening, a bright whoosh! rose out of the grill. Lyle jumped out of the way, while shouts came from every direction.

The boy, Luke, looked on in horror for a few seconds as an alarm started to blare. Someone grabbed an extinguisher and blasted it at the flame as if he were holding a machine gun.

Before Luke could feel guilt for yet another disaster he'd caused, he dashed from the room and into the school halls.

A few teachers and faculty were hurrying down these halls, making their escape before whatever had set off the alarm could get to them.

"Well, it's lucky all the girls are - " one started to say, before sighting Luke a few feet away.

"Lucas? What are you doing here? You've got to get outside."

"I - wait, I am, but - "

"Go on, then."

And so Luke was walking, and several school staff members followed him at a brisk pace. He walked until he ran straight into -

"Lucas! Darling!"

Whereas he had been on his way out, Clarissa Payne had been on her way in. And she looked the phoniest kind of anxious.

"Thank goodness I've found you! I had to make sure you got out alive!" she gushed, ever the drama queen.

Luke abruptly gathered himself and walked around her.

"Excuse me, dear, but I believe I'm speaking to you."

"Move ALONG, Clarissa." One of the teachers barked.

The blonde quickly shuffled along to keep pace with the object of her affection.

"I'm sorry to be stern with you, darling, but this is an emergency! And this on top of those dreadful photographers...I was oh so very worried about you."

"Curl up and die, Clarissa." Luke muttered.

"Yes, I almost DIED at the thought of something happening to you."

They exited the building, and it was then that Luke's luck and timing became its most miserable yet.

There was the headmaster, two receptionists, a janitor, and Meghan Reynolds, standing at the back of the crowds.

"Oh no, there she is, love." Clarissa crooned in mock sympathy. "Don't worry; we can break it to her gently."

At the sound of Clarissa's voice, Meghan slowly turned to face them, and was immediately taken aback.

"Meghan!" Luke sputtered.

"Now, now, dear, don't be too abrupt." advised Clarissa, feigning concern.

"What in blazes are you talking about?" Luke shouted in reply. He turned back to Miss Reynolds. "Meghan, please, listen to me - "

"She's going to find out the truth some way or another." Clarissa remarked. "Be gentle, but don't stall."

At this, disbelief mounted in Meghan's eyes, and she shook her head slowly in shock, her mouth slightly agape. Then, she retreated into the crowds.

"No! Wait!" Luke called after her. He started to follow, but was held back - by Clarissa on one side, and a random teacher on the other.

"Oh, no, you don't." The random teacher told him. "You leave that poor girl alone. You've caused her enough pain as it is."

"I need to rectify what I've done." he told the man, trying to shake Clarissa off as he did so. Clarissa, meanwhile, was murmuring inane lines softly enough to sound sympathetic but loudly enough for others to hear and therefore gather a certain impression.

"It's alright, sweetheart, you'll speak with her soon. Perhaps she's just not ready, but soon she'll understand. And then we can be together without worry. Don't fret - "

Luke turned to look her straight in the eye.

"Stop. Your. LYING." he snarled, wrenching his arm from her grasp. He then let himself be escorted, by aforementioned teachers, toward the school's exit.

Well, I hope these were at least somewhat enjoyable. I want everyone to know that I know how this story will end, that this has not been a neverending make-up-as-I-go fic, despite its length. And I am determined to finally ride it through.

Next two will be up Sunday at the LATEST. I will respond personally to anyone who reviews.

I truly and sincerely apologize.