Um. Well. I have no excuse. This chapter is very long. Shall I say hella long. Super duper long. It's 15 pages long in a word document at 11 pt font. Over 9,000 words. I apologize. Hmmm…not really. :]

It's the product of several nights' worth of staying up until 4 or 5 AM, and waking up at 9 or 10 AM. Not to mention helping out around the house (I'm the eldest of 12 kiddos, so I have my work cut out for me!) and Christmas coming up. I eat stress for breakfast.

Anyway, this chapter didn't turn out the way I originally intended. I don't know what happened. I'm not quite content with it but….oh well. I'm not good with feelings. Not like romantic garbage but…raw humanity. It touches a bit on that. I took a lot of my own mental dialogue and quirks and threw them in this chapter.

Hmm, I suppose that I could have split this into several chapters but, it all kind of ties in so I kept it together. SUE ME.

No, please don't. I'm poor. :[[[[

Paying off Sallie Mae and the US government,

Kelsey

CHAPTER 8: THE BEGINNING OF THE END

The Miller family had a strange sense of humor. They would call it "eccentric", but it was not the choice word of those who talked about them. At least, not the word used when talking behind their backs. However, they had money, and it talked louder than the words behind closed doors.

Morton Miller ran steel mills throughout all of Great Britain, although the man knew more about the metal he earned rather than the metal he milled. His wife, Maureen, appreciated this fact most of all, as she had no interest in steel. She found herself cursed with a daughter, although she attempted to prevent it, and a son three years later. The only solace she found in it was choosing names, both of which had to start with "M". And thus, Millicent (Millie) and Miles found their way onto the family tree.

The children were only allowed to go outside when running errands, as their mother's fear of the sun forced them all to stay indoors for the majority of the day. While indoors, their activities were also severely limited, as they weren't allowed to touch the piano ("It's an antique!"), use the easel ("Learn to paint and you can use it"), eat treats ("Children shouldn't have cavities"), or roller skate in the basement rink ("You'll crack your head open"). Which meant, reading books, and learning to play card games as their father did (he was a heavy gambler). Millie had slightly more freedom, as her mother let her use make-up liberally and bought her new clothes constantly, but Miles was left with the bare minimum; after all, Maureen didn't much care for boys.

Their white-brick house sat a good 100 meters from the street curb, a giant mansion of a home that dwarfed all houses (and trees) around the neighborhood. The lawn was cut at a short length, the grass a vibrant emerald, and the landscaping made use of large shrubs and hedges around the perimeter, like a giant forest fence. Enormous works of horticultural art graced different parts of the yard, and a stone fountain sat heavily in an oval courtyard just in front of the house. The grounds themselves were impressive, let alone the ornate interior, the majority of it layered in white marble and granite (which posed a hazard for little knees and elbows: "No running in the house!").

It was at the family dining room table (Brazilian mahogany, no longer available due to excessive deforestation) on the morning of Saturday, October 3rd, that Millie sat, pretending to talk amongst imaginary people, just as she planned to sound for her party guests that afternoon. It was a habit she'd acquired in early childhood, not having much else to do.

"Oh yes, of course I got right into University. My father was head of the Board 10 years ago, and is good friends of many of the Board members now. Oh, Professor Layton, would you like some more tea? Excuse me, Trudy, could you get Hershel a spot of tea? Hee hee hee." She rubbed her hands together, smiling. "Now to make sure everything is set!"

She strolled to the back door, leading to the patio. Her mother stood outside with an umbrella.

"Oh, Millie, are you sure you want tables set up outdoors? What about your fair skin?" She fussed with her daughter's hair, poking loose strands back into their places.

"Mum, some people enjoy the outdoors, and I don't dare go against their wishes. The headmaster especially loves nature; he'll appreciate our grounds." She called her maid over and ran through the to-do list. "Trudy, make sure the hors d'ourves are kept at appropriate temperatures. No one will be getting food poisoning from my party."

She rushed inside, searching for her father, who stood talking with a short, round man at the front door. She latched onto her father's arm and whined.

"Father, couldn't you be a bit less busy and attend to tasks around the house? I want everything to be immaculate for my teachers!"

Morton brushed his daughter gently from his suit coat. "Everything's taken care of, Millie, you remember Mr. Dover from the mill? He'll be joining us this afternoon." The girl shook the little man's hand delicately (the sort of delicate that a person uses when touching something curious yet visibly disgusting) and smiled.

"Charmed." The man tried to reply but was cut short. "Now then, I'll be off to do daddy's job, since he's too busy with social matters!" She scuttled off, tossing around her long skirts, leaving Mr. Dover to the thought everyone outside the Miller family had: mad in the head. Plain and simple mad.

Laura ironed an old and seldom worn yellow, cotton dress, making sure the many wrinkles (courtesy of 1 year in the closet) were pressed out. It wasn't that the dress was undesirable; it was just reserved for special occasions, occasions that Laura rarely attended. She held it up, doing a sweeping check for any errant creases, and found it satisfactory. She dressed, grabbed a pair of yellow dress sandals and her hand bag, and walked down the stairs to the front door. As she fixed the shoe buckles, her mother entered the foyer.

"Make sure you give Mr. and Mrs. Miller our respects. And, this is for Mrs. Miller." She handed her daughter a small box. Laura eyed it carefully.

"Swainson's Chocolate?"

"How did you know? So astute. Don't sneak any." She turned on her heels and disappeared down the dark-wood paneled hallway. Laura rolled her eyes, recalling that Swainson's had a small amount of edible gold in each piece. Just what I've always wanted, she thought: to poop out precious metals. Mr. Miller would be proud.

She found herself feeling glad that the weather was strangely warm for an early October afternoon. Just warm enough for her pastel dress. She checked her watch often as she walked down the sidewalk, making her way two blocks to Millie's house. She didn't want to be exactly on time, but didn't want to be too late either. She was odd with time, not caring to be late to classes she deemed unnecessary, but caring just enough to be on time to matters such as these.

A tea party. Really? It seemed simple, innocent enough, but Laura knew better. She knew Millie better. If it weren't the purpose of the party to put down those who were considered bourgeois by Millie's standards, it would be to suck up to the University administration. Or to get into the archaeology professor's knickers.

"Oh, aren't you naughty!" Laura thought for a moment her thoughts were heard, but noticed differently after snapping back to reality. A corpulent woman, too large for her dress, waddled a good 5 meters ahead, raucously laughing and slapping the shoulder of a man quite her opposite. He wavered in his gait.

"Madam Lorraine, surely Mr. Miller won't approve of this behavior at his daughter's party. Shouldn't we return and-" He was eagerly pushed ahead by a fat hand.

"Surely Mr. Miller won't approve of you at his daughter's party! Such a prudish child, how do you manage?"

Laura slightly felt sorry for the fellow, noticing the beads of sweat on his brow. She wondered who they were, but assumed she'd find out soon enough, as the strange couple turned to enter the Miller's grand estate.

The view of the compound was always bittersweet. It really was amazing, the architecture and energy of the place. But its owners were the bitter part, and the look on Millicent Miller's face even more so. Laura patiently walked up the lane, waiting for Millie to personally greet each guest before allowing them entrance to her "humble abode," as the girl kept repeating. It became Laura's turn. Millie curled her lips awkwardly.

"Oh, Laura. You managed to make it. Didn't put too much stress on you to dig out your old frock, did it?"

'Why did I come….'

"Hardly. And I don't care much for masks, so my make-up didn't even make it out of the drawer this morning."

Millie looked at her questioningly, feigning interest. "You own make-up?"

"Might you accept this gift from my parents?" Laura proffered, ignoring the stupid look on her 'friend'. "It's just something small for your mother. Nothing too extravagant."

"I'm sure. I'll be sure to let you know when my most esteemed guest arrives!" She clapped her hands together rapidly in succession, ushering Laura inside. "Snacks in the back, tea on the patio, restroom by the staircase, make yourself at home, okay! Mr. Limburger, glad you could make it…"

Laura left the rest of the victims to the welcome wagon, feeling sorry for the little chocolate box that was thrown haphazardly onto a mountain of other gifts and bobbles. She'd let Millie's comments roll off her so often that it never phased her, but anything new having to come in contact with her, unawares of her personality? She felt pity. Even for the future-excrement gold chocolate.

She walked through the bleached-white hallway, large portraits covering the walls. They provided the only color in the home, it seemed. The rest blazed white, as if it threatened to blind. Upon entering the kitchen, she then heard the chatter and laughter of the guests on the outdoor deck. Several maids and chefs flew through the kitchen, arranging treats and appetizers on ceramic trays, pouring tea into mini cups. Laura stood in the doorway, mesmerized by their flurry. She could never imagine maids and cooks scurrying in her home. One of them stopped, caught off-guard by the girl in the yellow dress. She smiled kindly.

"Young miss, the party is just out back. Please come this way."

"Do you need any help? It looks stressful."

The maid laughed heartily. She was certainly genuine. "You are absolutely not allowed to bother with anything this fine afternoon. Please, enjoy yourself in this lovely weather. Come, follow me." She grabbed two large trays with small cakes and pressed through two large French doors on swinging hinges, Laura following closely behind.

The yard was packed with people of all sorts: fat, old, rich women; skinny, old, rich women; loud rich men, poking fun at other loud rich men. Well, perhaps not all sorts, considering they were mostly just rich. Laura found herself nervous. She never liked these situations. Although her family was wealthy, well-known, and well-liked, she herself was not. She never much cared for money, or expensive trinkets, or even reputation. What on earth would she have to talk about?

She looked over a food table, reading each dish's card label, trying to find something that she could pronounce the name of.

'French food, be damned.'

"Why hello there, young lady. You're the Haris girl, aren't you?" Laura looked up into the face of an older gentleman. He carried a gold pocket watch in his left hand, and kept glancing at it.

"Yes, I am. My name is Laura. I'm sorry, you are…?"

"Roy T. Arnold, I'm a good friend of your father's. We used to work on the same campaign back in the day. Political stuff."

"Oh, yes, that's interesting," she lied, wondering how he'd recognized her. "I'll be sure to tell father that I'd met you, Mr. Arnold. You should visit sometime. I'm sure he'd love to have you for tea."

He laughed feebly. "Yes, and I'm sure he could still hound me for all the times he beat me at water polo back at University. Oh yes, it was the summer of '76, and let me tell you…"

Laura listened with fake interest, nodding when appropriate, not knowing whether or not she was still being addressed as Mr. Arnold had pulled two more people into the conversation and were all now discussing the rise and fall of Schnauzer popularity in Great Britain. When she realized they had all discontinued their intermittent glancing over at her, she knew they'd forgotten her presence and quickly made a getaway. She perused the yard, seeing if she recognized anyone willing to talk about something more interesting than water polo and dogs.

The Headmaster was toasting an elderly woman who could barely stand without the assistance of a walker, and several people gathered around cheered and downed their glasses.

"I'll be sure to flag down Hershel as soon as he gets here, Mrs. Delmona, and let him know you are here! He'll be delighted, I'm sure," the Headmaster emphasized, smiling broadly. Laura absentmindedly glanced around again. Oh yes, she thought. He's supposed to be here.

"I hadn't even noticed," she whispered to herself, returning to the house.

She walked slowly through a large dining room, the clicking of her sandals echoing throughout the space. A group of younger, well-dressed ladies giggled amongst themselves. Laura noticed one of them being Mrs. Miller. She would have waved, had the woman not obviously looked at the stain that entered the room (the stain being Laura) and found it useless to bother with at the moment.

She had little time to be self-conscious about it as Millie had just squealed, apparently a cue to her posse to join in with her. Laura wondered when they had arrived; they were currently all huddled around the door.

"Professor Layton, I'm so glad you made it!" Millie said shrilly. The Professor tipped his wool cap forward, smiling his trademark smile at the group of girls. He stepped over the lip of the door jam and laughed. Laura felt a strange twinge in the middle of her chest plate, and it quickly ate through her stomach and returned to its origins. She shot a precautionary glance to her left and right, as if to make sure no one noticed the sensation, although she was the only one who could have possibly known about it.

She took a few steps forward to see better into the foyer. Millie grabbed a small box from a stack next to the door, obviously meant for all the guests (although Millie had obviously "forgotten" to hand one to Laura).

"Here, please, this is from my parents!" Millie forced the little gift into Layton's hands. He blinked, laughing lightly.

"I'm late, and I'm greeted with presents! You are too kind, Miss Miller. Shall I remove my shoes? Your floors look immaculate; I'd hate to soil them."

"That's hardly necessary, Professor. Please, I'll take you to the goodies!" She grabbed his arm and linked it with hers, rightfully catching him off-guard as she pulled him roughly towards the back of the house. Her friends followed them, chittering in their wake. Layton stopped Millie gently, pressing his heels heavily into the floor to break.

"Miss Miller, if you would so kindly point me to a restroom, I would be most appreciative. If you would greet the rest of your guests, I wouldn't feel quite so-"

"Oh, Professor, you deserve it! But I'll do as you say! I'll come find you as soon as all of the guests on my list have arrived!" She left him at the bathroom door and skipped back to the front door, girl-gaggle following suit. Laura shook her head in amazement and disgust, retreating to the dining room once again. They really were all like geese, she decided. She started admiring a surprisingly violent painting hanging in the middle of a wall when someone appeared beside her.

"Miss Laura, what a pleasant surprise," Professor Layton said just loud enough for her to hear. She broke away from her concentration with a jolt.

"Good Lord, I thought you were in the bathroom," she said breathily, quickly trying to remedy how and why she'd have known that. "I mean, I saw Millie drag you through the hallway and leave you there."

He laughed. "Yes, 'drag' is one way to put it." He moved his shoulder in slow circles. "Perhaps wrenched my arm out of socket…"

"Quite." She glanced at the painting, then back at her teacher, unsure of what to say. She found herself silently grateful when he looked at the painting as well.

"Gussfon's lost masterpiece, 'Bread and Circuses;' it's a very rare and coveted piece. I'm surprised it isn't hanging in a museum, rather than here."

"I'm not surprised."

Layton laughed. "I suppose it's not too surprising. Still, it's very unusual, especially given the rest of the décor." He motioned to the rest of the room with an open hand.

"Hmm," she agreed. She chanced a look at the ladies, still talking loudly. They were paying no attention to anyone else in the room, which she found unfortunate. If only Millie's mother took note of the Professor, she wouldn't have to carry on this conversation.

"Do you like art, Laura? Do you know much about this piece?"

She scratched her head and ran her hair back between her fingers, her trademark sign of unsure-of-how-to-carry-on-a-conversation. "I suppose it's nice to look at, but I don't care much for most of it. It's too subjective. I knew nothing of this piece before you mentioned its artist and title."

"I see," he said, smiling still. "You know, subjectivity isn't all bad. Do you enjoy any arts?"

She looked at him, daring a sarcastic tone. "It's much better to not be judged on how lovely a painting, a song, a poem is. That can't ever be quantified; it's purely opinion. But to answer your question, yes."

The Professor closed his eyes and held up a pointed finger, ready to say something knowledgeable and irrefutable, Laura was sure, when Millie flew around the corner at top speed.

"Oh Professor, Headmaster Ginlade is looking for you! He says he has someone you'd like to see!" She grabbed Layton's hand and pulled him from the room before anyone had anything to say about it. Laura stood staring at the spot he'd just been, secretly wondering where the conversation would have went, had Millie not been a glutton for attention. But half of her was grateful. She frowned and walked around the room, making her way to all connecting rooms on the first floor. She peered into a quiet living room, about the same size as the giant dining room on the other side of the house. It had a few couches and uncomfortable-looking chairs arranged neatly around the room, the walls punctuated by several large bookshelves. There were no people chatting, so it was rather silent. However, the centerpiece, speaking volumes with its sheer presence, was the large, pearl grand piano sitting heavily in the middle of the room. It was raised on a circular stage, accessible by two shallow steps from the main floor. A ceiling window, more of a cutaway of the ceiling, poured natural sunlight onto the piano's opened top, the golden hammers letting the light glint and dance inside the instrument's cavernous interior. Laura stood dumbfounded.

'What a beast…'

She approached it apprehensively, allowing several glances behind her to make sure no one had followed her into the room. This couldn't be heard, it couldn't be known. Not only for the reason of treading into someone's living room without permission, but…

She pressed lightly into the highest C, continuing to press a bit harder until it actually sounded. She mimicked the same pressure on middle C, her hand flying backward in retreat as it sounded much louder than expected. The note's echo lasted longer than Laura anticipated.

"The weight is varied…..troublesome. And what an echo, stupid room… Poor piano, looks ancient, and hardly ever played."

She sat on the matching pearl bench, feeling the cool material beneath her fingers. It didn't even creak. She stared at the keys, each one more dazzling and clean than the next. As her fingers curled under the lip of the bench, she wondered if she should even be here.

"No one will notice, they're all chatting it up, comparing Schnauzers to poodles… Plus," she argued, "this is the only thing I could ever enjoy here. Pity no one here actually knows how to play." Resting her fingers against the keys, she smiled mockingly, eyes squinting into the space where sheetmusic would sit. "Why yes, Professor. I do partake in an art. But you," she slammed her left thumb and fifth finger into an octave, the start of Rachmoninoff's 'Prelude in C Minor,' "won't ever get to know that."

Professor Layton eagerly began a chat with Mrs. Delmona, the Dean of Gressenheller University's wife, but his eagerness quickly turned into a test of patience as the elderly woman continued with repeated praises of his work at the University. He might have heard her mention a change of his teaching position, but it was so fleeting he didn't bother to dwell on it.

"And my husband never fails to mention your hard work on the research you've been conducting in Ireland! I do say, I'm none familiar with this architecture stuff…"

"Archaeology, Mrs. Delmona," the Professor gently corrected for the 10th time.

"Yes, yes, just as I said, anthropology. I…what is that wonderful sound? I didn't know they'd have live music today." She peered around, a cheery smile at her lips.

The Professor forgave her yet another mislabeling of his line of work and stopped a moment to notice the sound himself.

"Sounds like a piano. There doesn't seem to be a piano out on the grounds. It's a bit faint." He noticed a line of open windows along the left side of the back of the house. "Perhaps it's indoors?"

"Well, your young legs can go take you to find out. I'll just sit out here in back and enjoy this warm weather. Quite curious for October, I do say…"

"I think I might. It's not the sound of an amateur, I wonder who here plays so professionally? Good speaking with you, Mrs. Delmona. I'll catch you for a goodbye before you leave for the afternoon."

He cut through the large crowd situated on the patio and ascended the stairs to the deck. Surely it wasn't proper to weave his way through a stranger's house, but he expected it would be forgiven, given Millie's infatuation with him. He rolled his eyes, thinking about it. What a silly, young child.

He lost the sound for a moment, many groups of giggling women walking about, blocking out the tune. He stopped a moment, and realized the piano had also stopped. Perhaps it was a recording?

A sad melody trailed through the hallways once again, bleeding emotion into the sterile walls. They had not heard a more poignant song in all their static days. The Professor continued his search more quickly, should he risk losing the sound again.

He rushed finally into the living room, the player's upper half blocked out by the music stand on the piano. The yellow sandaled feet showed it was a girl. He walked slowly around the circle stage, ears bent wholly towards the chilling melody, each chord rendering him captured in an ethereal trance. The pianist stared down at her hands, lost in thought.

"Laura?"

Laura immediately stopped the song and stood up, eyes gripped with a strange fear. The bench made a sour scudding sort of sound against the marble floor of the stage, contrasting with the sound that was just being made moments prior. She stared stupidly at her professor.

"I didn't know anyone else was here. Were you listening for some time?"

"No, no, I just heard you outdoors, I was talking with the Dean's wife, I mean-you play piano?" He was spewing out needless information but, what had he just heard? It wasn't the sound of a novice. Did this small girl just produce the music of the masters?

"I'm just as flummoxed as you are, Professor." She stepped away from the instrument, arranging the bench as it was originally. "No, I don't play."

Layton frowned, as one does when they are first told square-faced that tomatoes are indeed botanically fruits. "No, no, no, you do play. I heard it first-hand, just outside, just now. That was you? I'm…I'm stunned, I must say. I didn't know any of my students possessed such talent."

"No, you stand corrected: I do not play. Not anymore." She made to walk down from the stage.

"But I…I'm confused. You just—" He turned her around by the shoulders and gestured for her to sit. "That was playing, Laura. How could you say you don't play piano when you just did?" Laura was taken aback by his tone, somewhat earnest, someone aggravated. It was very different from the soft, genial voice that spoke of ancient ruins and forgotten history.

"What I mean to say is, I don't play anymore, as in, I know how to play, but I do not play as a rule. I don't play at home, I don't take lessons, I don't try to improve. It was a hobby, but I've since drifted away from it." She looked at the keys with a hard glare, as if punishing them for tempting her there. "That is all."

Layton plunked some keys. "I take lessons every two weeks, but I'm no good. However, I've loved the sound of piano since I was a child. I especially admire those who can play with some degree of musicality." He looked up at her from his seat on the bench. "How long have you played?"

"Since I was seven years old. Did anyone else hear me? I shouldn't be here, I never asked for permission."

"Don't worry, I believe it was only me and Mrs. Delmona." He smiled kindly again, putting the seat back. "You really don't want to share your gift, do you?"

She shook her head. "I prefer to keep it to myself. No one judges me that way."

The Professor looked at her sympathetically for a moment, then made his way across the room. "Most of the guests should be leaving soon. I wouldn't dare to touch it again, lest you be heard."

He smiled and left the room. Laura stood on the stage, feeling her hands shake. The aftereffect of beating into the piano. That's what it would be attributed to, had the Professor not just made an entrance. She sat on the stage stair, running her hands down her legs. Why did he have to hear, of all people? She'd succeeded in hiding her secret, and now this idiot young teacher, target of all the other girls' affections and attention, knew it. She might have been mad enough to silence him permanently, had he not offered the last bit of advice before his leaving.

"'Lest you be heard'…" Most people would just tell her how to make the most of her skill: how to make the most money, how to get famous, how to please everyone else but herself. But…would he keep it a secret?

She smiled, numb, staring at the wall across from her.

Only a few guests remained around six o'clock. The cooks were warned that dinner should be finished within the next half hour, no later. As rain clouds formed overhead, the groundskeepers scurried to take down tents and tables before any rain hit. It was enough to get the last few straggling attendees to give their regards and say their goodbyes.

"Now then," Mrs. Miller said with a loud voice, her husband standing at her side. "All those of the administration or of Millie's request are welcome to stay for dinner. The chefs will be serving Miller family favorites, so please feel free to sit back and eat as much as you like."

"Yes, join us in the dining room, if you will," Mr. Miller said, a bleached-white toothy grin flashing as he motioned the college professors to follow him. He loved hosting anyone with influence or cash.

Professor Layton followed behind the rest of his colleagues while continuing a conversation with the Headmaster.

"I do say, quite an ordeal, this whole afternoon must have been, all at the expense of the Millers. What a treat! I haven't ate so well in years." The Headmaster patted his stomach. "I could do with another round actually."

"Quite. I'll meet you after washing up," Layton said, retreating down the hallway to the washroom.

Millie led her friends towards the dining room as well. "Make sure you save me a seat next to Hershel! Anyone tries to cozy up to him, you get to eat with the dogs!"

"Do your dogs eat as well as your family, Millie?"

Millie spun around at the surprise voice. "Laura! What are you still doing here?"

She shrugged. "Attending a party I was invited to?"

"Well, this portion of the event is for University staff and administration only. I'm afraid you'll have to leave." She crossed her arms defiantly. "I'll see you to the door."

"And…them?" Laura pointed to the rest of the girls.

"We all helped plan this party! We have a right to dine with Millie's family this evening," Clara said snootily, her nose in the air.

"I see. Hmm. Do you have an umbrella I could borrow? I left mine at home. It looks as if it's beginning to rain."

"Oh, Laura, it's merely sprinkling! Can't spoil your beautiful hair style, can we?" Millie opened the front door, the sound of a downpour rushing inside. "I suppose you could borrow my broken one, it'll do just as well." She pulled an old gray umbrella from a can next to the door and handed it to Laura.

"I'll return it on Monday."

"Don't bother. It's so tattered anyhow. It's a thanks for attending my party. You added so much." Millie giggled airily. "Do be careful now!"

Laura took a step out onto the front porch, the umbrella held out away from her. She pressed a black button to release the mechanism, forcing open a weak barrier against the rain.

"This won't last the walk home!" Laura exclaimed. "It's practically paper-thin! Say, do you have the daily news? It's probably as good as this rubbish!"

"Well, it's really all I have…" Millie shrugged.

"You mean to tell me the daughter of one of Britain's wealthiest businessmen only has this rag on sticks? It's complete rubbish!"

"Going home early, Laura?" The Professor's face appeared behind the group of girls gathered at the entrance.

"Oh, she's got errands before nightfall," Millie cut in, ushering him towards the dining room. "Dinner's almost done, Professor, you should go sit down."

"I'm not a part of the administration, so I'm returning home before it gets too late," she scoffed as she lifted the umbrella above her head, groaning as the rain dripped through the fabric. "I'll just make a run for it."

"Steady on!" The girls moved aside, Layton pressing through with an extra wide umbrella, opening it over Laura and her sorry excuse for one. "It's not safe to walk back so far with that device. Perhaps Miss Laura would be able to stay for dinner? Surely she's able to stay as one of 'Millie's requests'?" He eyed Millie carefully, unwavering in his smile.

"Well, she was always welcome in the first place, she was busy, I thought she had errands, um, yes. Laura, please come inside and take a place at the table…" Millie grabbed the old umbrella back forcefully and threw it into the can with a clang, not bothering with the trail of water that splattered onto the tile. She stomped off to the dining room. "Hurry, before the food is cold!"

Laura ran her fingers through her damp hair, looking into the door's window. She tried to see her reflection. Useless anyway, she thought.

"Sorry for the misunderstanding, Laura." The Professor sat his own umbrella in the corner after shaking it outside the door. "However, it's not good to catch a cold this time of year. You shouldn't become wet in the rain."

Laura nodded and walked gingerly to a seat at the table. A puggish sort of girl by the name Amy cleared her throat with dramatic emphasis.

"That seat is for Millie, not for-" She immediately shut her mouth as the Professor sat down in the seat next to Laura's.

"I was under the impression that Millie was sitting next to her parents at the head of the table," Layton said matter-of-factly. "It's the only chair available though, so please have a seat, Miss Laura." She sat down next to the Professor, spreading her cloth napkin across her lap and sitting with her hands folded neatly on the table. Millie finally returned from whining to her father about the dessert of choice for the evening, and sneered acidly in Laura's direction. She kicked two of the chairs of her friends.

"I told you to make that seat stay open!" she hissed.

"We tried but…" Too late. Millie turned on her heel and unappreciatively joined her parents and a few of the Board members at the head of the long oak table. Laura ventured to peer down the long line of those seated, smiling awkwardly to herself as her eyes met Millie's soured expression. She almost laughed out loud, but hid it by clearing her throat. Clara and Amy glowered at her through squinted eyes.

Laura quickly became uncomfortable, and food hadn't yet been served. She shuffled nervously in her seat, wishing she was already a block away in the rain, walking home. The girls all began finding pointless conversations and topics to indulge in, none of which Laura had any expertise in. Even if she did, they wouldn't have asked for it.

Professor Layton sipped from a glass of water, noticing her discomfort. "So, Laura, do you not live far from here? You were about ready to venture home in this weather!"

"I'm only about two blocks from here, around a 10 minute walk. It's not far."

"I see. Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself this afternoon. You found something to keep you busy for at least a little while, hm?" He smiled warmly at her, making her feel unsure of how to answer.

"Er, yes. For around 30 minutes. The rest of the hours, I don't know what I did besides walk around."

"Did you meet any friends here?"

"Well, I suppose I saw many people I knew, yes."

The chefs began bringing out the food and dishes in droves, line after line of platters ascending on the diners. Something was placed in front of Laura that stunk like a fisherman drenched in oil.

"This is…"

"Calamari, fried squid. Do you like seafood, Laura?" The Professor put some of the little fried curls on his plate, next reaching for a meat chop of some sort.

"Not caked in flour, no." She curled her nose, unawares of anyone else seeing her reaction. The Professor laughed heartily. "What?"

"It's just that calamari is rather popular, it's funny to see the opposite reaction. Fish and chips not to your liking either, I suppose?"

"I won't touch it." She spooned steamed vegetables and cocktail shrimp onto her plate, trying to find a chicken breast nearby. "I stick with healthier options."

Layton nodded. "That's a good way to be. Now, what would make this the best would be tea afterwards. Hopefully, there's some new ones I haven't tried. I was told there'd be tea…"

Laura was thankful when he finally began chewing, and could only get done cutting through her meat or just putting a bite of food in her own mouth when he'd break the silence and ask something yet again. She kept trying to synchronize her managing to eat with the times Layton would talk with the Headmaster sitting next to him, but she failed miserably.

"Say, Headmaster, see that painting?"

"Oh yes, it's quite rare, what a strange sight in this house!"

"We were admiring it earlier, weren't we, Laura? We said just the same!"

Laura nodded. "Yes, yes, just the same…"

'What a chore!'

Millie somehow had maneuvered her chair between two of the girls across from Layton, and was now sitting there, squished rather tightly between her noticeably uncomfortable friends. "So Professor? How was this afternoon? We'll be having tea after dinner! There's some nice ones you'll enjoy!"

"Splendid, I was hoping for such a treat. Thank you very much for this afternoon, Miss Millie."

"So, Professor, we're all anxious to hear about how you came to be an archaeology professor!" All the other girls agreed in chorus. Laura sat chewing broccoli slowly, staring at the nasty calamari.

The Professor went on about how he didn't really care for such a topic in his early days, but how he slowly came to love it. He animatedly went on about his goals as a young student, yet how he ended up doing what he thought he'd never be able to do: teach at a level of higher education. It was all told modestly, hardly the truth, but they all accepted it at face value. The rest of the girls listened with rapt attention, but Laura felt herself getting sleepy, resorting to prodding shrimp tails with her fork.

"Do you have any skills, Professor? Do you sing?" one girl asked.

"Do you write poetry?"

"Can you bake?"

'Are you a woman, is basically what they are asking,' Laura thought, grimacing to herself.

He laughed. "Hardly, no no, I don't do much more than research, read, and write! That's my job as an academic, after all."

After exhausting all possible questions and going on about their own lives, the girls quieted down and began leaving their seats, joining Millie in the other room for dessert. Laura decided to make use of the rest of the shrimp.

"So quiet, Laura. Don't let the other girls make you feel that you can't ask or answer questions."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "I don't have much to say, nothing was addressed to me anyhow."

"Well, then here's a question. How did you come to start playing piano? Just a fleeting interest that you acted on?"

"I would rather not talk about it. It's a stupid reason."

"I'm sure it's a fine reason, after all, you learned to play so well."

"Well, I-"

"You know there are desserts in the other room, if you want any, Professor," Millie informed casually, setting her plate full of cookies down on the table. "What are you chatting about, Laura?"

"Nothing important, really."

"If it's about your life, then certainly, that's the case!" She giggled. The girls echoed. Laura rolled her eyes. All on cue. "Only joking, Laura."

"Now, now, Miss Millie, that's no way to talk about your friend, even if you are doing it in fun."

"I'm only kidding. Laura's life is rather easy. She's an only child, she's given all she desires, and has been taught so many things. She has a lot of skills. She's actually quite good at mathematics and engineering." Laura looked up at Millie, trying to figure out what she was gaining by boosting her up like this. Was it only to hide her scorn and jealousy?

"You flatter me. My skills are nothing to write home about." Laura stood. "I'll get some dessert now."

She picked around the dessert table, settling for a caramel cookie. She glanced at a large clock hanging on the wall and sighed. It was already close to 8 o'clock. Returning to the dining room, she made her way to Millie, who was busy laughing at something the Professor had said. Laura was sure it wasn't meant to be reacted to with uncontrollable laughter.

"Thank you, Millie, for letting me come to your party. I hope it wasn't too much trouble inviting me."

"Oh Laura, it's always a pleasure," coming off of a rather girly giggle and waving her hand in front of her red face. "Are you leaving now?"

"I probably should. I'll see you on Monday. Give your parents my regards. They're busy talking at the moment."

"Oh yes yes, good night, Laura." She turned away and tried continuing to flirt with Professor Layton when he grabbed his overcoat. "Wait, are you leaving as well? It's early!"

"It's becoming dark, and as a gentleman, I can't let your classmate walk home on her own. I wouldn't be a gentleman if I let that happen, now would I?" He made his way to the door and grabbed the umbrella once again.

"No really, Professor, you needn't trouble over-" Laura started.

"It's no trouble at all. I do have a duty to protect my students as well. Miss Millie, I'll be back as soon as I ensure she's made it home. Please tell the Headmaster to wait for me. Or you could join us if you would like?"

Millie glared daggers at Laura, who smiled slyly back. Both knew what the situation meant: Millie would have given her left arm to walk alone with the Professor, but wouldn't dare venture in the rain, or walk for more than two blocks only to see to it that Laura got home.

'Too bad, Millie…'

"I'm sure Millie wouldn't mind walking with us," Laura started. "She'd love to make conversation and keep you company—"

"That is quite alright, Laura, I'm sure you'll make it on your own, I'll call you in about 30 minutes to make sure you're snug and warm at home. See you soon, Professor." She opened the front door and allowed Laura and the Professor passage to the porch, curdling milk with her sideways sneer. Layton bid farewell with a tip of his hat, opened his umbrella, and started down the front walk at a brisk speed, Laura following along his side.

It was when they passed the final hedge of the Millers' grounds that Laura was hit with the discomfort of walking alone with someone, a situation she thoroughly despised. It required her to make conversation for the sake of being a good "host". It was to her benefit that the Professor offered his time, after all. How should I know what to talk about with….a professor, anyway? she thought. It wasn't as if she'd had any practice, and it was especially difficult since all he knew about was history and rocks. Now if it was all about hydraulics and calculus, maybe, just maybe, she'd have something to talk about.

She wrung her hands together.

"You didn't have to walk me back. I'm quite alright on my own. It's safe."

Professor Layton chuckled. "It's true these streets don't see much action, but I disagree that it's safe. It's never safe for a young lady to walk in the dark alone."

"Well, thank you anyway."

"My pleasure." He stopped talking for a moment. "If I may make an observation, it seems that there's some…discord between your classmates and yourself, Laura."

She watched her steps carefully, making sure not to step on any cracks. It was supposed to be a temporary obsession a month ago, but she found herself still avoiding crevices and unequal areas in the pavement. Maybe he hadn't noticed…

"Hmm," she muttered.

"Is that true?"

"I believe it's more of a clash of interests. I suppose that creates discord in the long run, though. This is a matter of several years' build up. All of their parents know mine, we were all raised knowing each other. Our personalities aren't quite agreeable however. Well," she paused, discerning whether it was appropriate to continue her tirade, "their personalities mesh. Mine doesn't. I'm not verbal enough, but it's not because I'm aloof. It's more because I am not interested. Genuinely."

'Why am I saying all this?'

"I see." He was quiet for several seconds. "How are the rest of your studies going?"

"Pardon?"

"Your other courses?"

"Oh yes, they are fine."

"Your favorite?"

"Is mathematics. I'm also going to start taking fourth-year engineering at Gressenheller next week. I finally got permission to join the class. That should be enjoyable."

Layton stared wide-eyed. "Fourth-year? But, you're a freshman!"

"Age and rank mean nothing," she said factually. She tapped her forehead. "It's all up here."

"True enough," he said, nodding, almost approvingly. "You're quite wise. You might teach your friends a thing or two."

Laura felt like she'd hit a breakthrough in the conversation department, and was in the mood to keep the ball rolling. Usually, she'd stop there and keep quiet, but the dam had been released. "They aren't my friends. And, truthfully, they are quite unteachable."

"No one's unteachable."

"Well, I'll leave the teaching to you, Professor. I'll just take the knowledge."

"Well, if you want it that way, you had better take a bit more from archaeology class. You scored 75% on the last test," he chortled, an air of sarcasm to his voice. He himself found it uncharacteristic.

"Frankly, not to be offensive, but I find no purpose in studying the past. What really is the goal of figuring out a puzzle that can't 100% ever be solved? You weren't there to know, so how do you really know?"

"I go about it with half plain curiosity, the other half I'm scientifically driven. I suppose nothing's certain 100%, but we can get close enough. As for a goal, it's a thirst for knowledge, a hunger to know." He readjusted his hand on the umbrella. "I want to get in the shoes of those long past, put together where they were going. It could help us now."

"You can't just live and figure out life on your own?"

"Hmm, I suppose that's possible. But the more knowledge I'm equipped with, the better I can live. Don't you agree?"

Laura thought for a moment. "Suppose you search your whole life, just to live out that life better, and you still are left wondering, still missing something. Won't you feel you'd wasted something?"

He blinked. "I suppose I never thought of it that way."

"That's why I work with what's already there, tangible. I see my progress, I know I'm doing something. But, that's my approach. I suppose I shouldn't have said anything debatable."

"Laura, it is okay to bring your opinion to the table. I never thought about your approach. Maybe you have something to teach, after all." He stopped walking. "And in truth, I really don't know where you live, so hopefully we haven't passed it."

Laura gasped. "Oh, yeah, I forgot all about what I was doing. It's just ahead around the corner." The words were spilling from her head to her mouth so quickly she didn't bother thinking about what was going on internally or externally. She felt a similar twinge again in the depths of her body, something visceral, but it was almost an emptying feeling. She processed it quickly, realizing it might be attributed to…

'There's no way I'm enjoying a conversation about feelings! Yet…it's ending soon. I get to go home, and be within my own mental confines. I can do anything! It's freedom, but…

…I quite like having someone talk back.'

"Professor, I'd like to thank you again for walking me home. Would you like some tea for the walk home?"

"It's quite alright, I assure you, I'll be fine. Millie has enough to quench the thirst of an entire nation, I'm sure." Laura laughed quietly.

"I don't doubt that."

She stopped at the sidewalk outside her home. "I'm sorry if I said anything hurtful. I didn't mean to speak negatively about your area of expertise."

"It's not news to me, Laura. It's quite obvious you care nothing about the course."

She blinked, feeling slightly offended. "Well, I…"

"You excel in other areas, there's nothing wrong with that. And I can see you're quite secure in your realm of knowledge, and you're wise enough to stay there. I don't only care about my line of work. Don't you think I have colleagues in other academic areas?" He smiled, chuckling.

"Well, isn't it your job to prod me into trying new things?" she insisted, taken aback.

"I suppose, but it's not my job to change something meant to be. I know now you're wise enough beyond your years. You don't need prodding. However," he readjusted his hat, running his arm across his brow, "you need to pass my course for credit. You might want to start coming to my office to discuss the material further, or I can find you a tutor if that's more comfortable."

She immediately hardened her expression. It felt more natural, after all. No more fuzzy conversation about life and deep meanings. "I suppose that's my only option at this point. I'll leave you to yourself now. Thank you again."

"Anytime, Laura. See you Monday."

Laura waved a quick and courteous goodbye, and slipped her key into the door lock. As soon as the door opened she was accosted by a flow of warm air.

"I see the heaters are at full throttle…" she whispered.

"Oh, Laura, is that you, darling?" Her mother appeared around the corner from the reading room. "You were gone for quite some time! You walked back alone, in this darkness? I almost called the Millers!"

"No, my professor walked me back after dinner. Millie invited, well, allowed me to stay for dinner." She placed her jacket and shoes at the entrance. "How is father?"

"Still moaning and groaning about his campaign workers. It's a miracle the place hasn't fallen down, what with all the yelling and bellowing he does!"

"I met a Mr. Arnold today."

"Oh, that old rascal. Friend of your father's, he is. I wonder how he recognized you at all, unless you didn't look as dreadful as you do now!" She fussed with Laura's frizzy hair, courtesy of the rain and humidity. "Tell me you looked more presentable at that party…"

"It rained. There's nothing I could do. It was only through dinner and-"

"Only? Only through dinner! My word, you look as if you've swam and slept, all without so much as a brush through! Come, let me get my hairbrush."

"I'm fine on my own, I'm going to bed anyway. Mother, it's almost half past eight!" She ascended the stairs quickly, rushing to her room, ignoring her mother's pleading to fix her 'unruly mane'. Closing the door, she sighed. Silence. Only her own thoughts.

Laura's room was painted a light purple, originally to her chagrin, but she became accustomed to it, along with the white baseboards and window trim. It was close enough to blue that it was tolerable, she had decided. She appreciated her king size bed, something she'd begged for every birthday, and her desk, her godsend. It was where she did her homework, drew pictures, sat and stared, or just sat and thought for hours. She'd made a pastime of thinking, and did it often. A collection of books, manuals, and how-to companion guides took up half of a large build-in shelving unit along the wall opposite the door, the other half filled with knick-knacks, souvenirs, and various other paraphernalia. A deep window sill contained an assortment of plants and cacti, which she greatly loved taking care of. Her parents wouldn't allow her to keep a pet, but she hung a small bird house and feeder outside the window to attract her feathered friends for viewing and charting. The place was her self-made prison, as it appeared to those observing, but she loved it to the point of obsession. It was quiet, it was learning-oriented. It was paradise. There was no vanity, no make-up, no walk-in closet. There was raw knowledge, a raw sense of wonder and awe.

Stepping away from the door, she greeted her plants mentally and absent mindedly rearranged a couple of books that didn't really need rearranging. Then she opened a window to let the cool outdoor air in. She hated stuffy rooms.

"My head hurts."

She laid back on her bed, reprocessing the day from the moment she stepped foot in Millie's house. There was a strange feeling inside her, and she couldn't explain it. She had felt miserable initially upon arriving at the party, but there was something unfortunate about the day that made her worry, and at the same time, made her feel like everything useless and meaningless fell away. The similar feeling she felt when stumbling across something new and interesting, but difficult. It needed examining. It needed some time. But she felt as if she couldn't wait for the end result, whatever it was, whatever it could come to be. Yet this sensation was foreign. It was empty and filled to bursting at the same time.

Yes, it was indeed unfortunate, she decided.

What was that, back when the professor arrived at Millie's doorstep? Was she hoping he'd be the only one sensible enough to talk to, to make her feel more comfortable? Wasn't that relying on him to fulfill some role?

"Nonsense," she spoke aloud to herself. "I could have gotten along just fine, walking about."

And what was that again, that fear of being heard? There was something carnal, something frightening in the way she'd been discovered playing the piano, a simultaneous wanting to be heard, yet an almost vengeful anger at being found. It was a strange thing…

'He went quite overboard, about my music. Perhaps he is a music connoisseur as well… He seemed to be quite taken with the piano.' She looked at her fingers, stretching them out towards the ceiling, cracking her knuckles as she bent them. 'It's been a while since someone enjoyed it, for the sake of the sound itself.'

Then she continued her thoughts up to dinner, the most discomforting part of all, but somehow, it wasn't as rotten as she'd first imagined it being. She often looked back on events and tried to place herself there, tried to decipher the feeling of the moment. There was nothing negative. She didn't have to struggle to make conversation; the professor made it for her. And again, after offering to walk her home, the struggle disappeared. Even more so, she felt almost eager, yearning for that communication, although at the time, she didn't think much of it at all at the time. What was that feeling? Was that seeking for attention?

"Ridiculous." That was a Millie thing.

Was that becoming…needy?

"Disgusting." Another Millie trait. She sat up and grabbed a nightgown from her dresser, proceeding to the bathroom. She dressed and began brushing her teeth, never minding her hair. She stared sullenly into the mirror in a daze; she hadn't even seen her reflection. Somehow, finally looking into her eyes she told herself something.

'You actually enjoyed having a conversation. You do realize, there are conversations in the mature, knowledgeable plane of existence… They don't only exist for the imbecilic. You are allowed to have friends, you know.'

"Laura Haris doesn't like having friends," she said, bored. "Friends…don't exist. There are only people that pretend." She cleaned her face up a bit, and turned out the bathroom lights. "Only actors. And they love their trade."

'They all pretend. Always. Or they leave you. They leave and they don't come back. Ever. It's always goodbye. Always.'

Turning out the lights, Laura listened outside her bedroom door a moment. There was never a phone ring, she was sure of it. She frowned, almost sad from self-pity.

"Millie wouldn't have called to check up anyway… I knew to expect that." She threw back the bed covers and plopped onto the mattress, staring into the darkness. Her eyes adjusted slowly.

'But… He was nice. He offered to take you home. No one else bothered or cared. No one cared.

He made conversation.

He sought your song.

He talked about stupid paintings, and about meaningless things.

But he talked.

He talked.

It was annoying, but he talked. And gave the time of day.

And he didn't sell your secret. Or make you play for everyone, like a circus act. Like cheap entertainment. Free music. He appreciated it for what it was, what it would stay as. No cheapening.'

Her brain hurt. She retraced the words said in the last steps leading up to her lawn.

'…it's not my job to change things that are meant to be…' Or something to that effect.

"Maybe it's not my job either. Maybe it's okay to…like having a friend." It was the same feeling when you have the word on the tip of your tongue, and you finally recall it. Or, you're on the verge of grasping a difficult topic, and you are hit with the trainwreck force of understanding. It's like a flood, an avalanche. There's no stopping it, it just is there.

Just like that, she felt a release, as if she'd known that all along, yet she just needed to say it out loud.

"Yes, it's okay, I think. Perhaps it's okay. Yes, I think it really is okay. I…think. Oh good Lord…" She sat up, quite dramatically, she admitted, but it seemed to be applicable, in her mind. "No, it's not okay. That is not the feeling I want. It's not, no, I won't have it. I can't really be having that sort of feeling for…no, not for a professor. He's…old. And…ugh, I don't even know, this is too subjective." Is that what all those girls feel? Is that why they hound him? They like him, and they feel this way? She wondered.

"Noooo, no, it can't be. They are too simple, they feel something strange, something like infatuation, perhaps close to lust? I'm not sure, but there's no way that this feeling is the same as those. No way. It's definitely something different, I'm not lumping myself in with those jokers… That twinge, that loss of conscientiousness, that…that lapse of thought upon walking home. No. That's not how others describe liking someone. It's something pleasant, that twinge, but it's not that."

She laid her head back down on her pillow, feeling guilty, but she knew not why. Or, she tried believing that.

'I like him, but there's no way I like like Professor Layton.

That's definitely not something that Laura Haris does.'

Oh my. I so sowwy. :]]]]]]] Reviews are always welcome. But! Critique my writing, not the content!