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“Annabelle!” The chorus of voices that greeted her as she entered her old sleeping quarters brought a smile to her face. It had only been two years since she left St. Trinian’s, but she had promised her dear aunt she would visit each Christmas. She cared more for her than she did her own father, who would throw her under the bus if it was to his advantage, and kept in touch with her frequently, though her visit the Christmas before had had to be cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances.
She greeted old friends, some of the Geeks and Eco Freaks and Chavs. She got a good look at the new students, the ones she didn’t recognize. She was pleased to see the twins were looking good, but there were far fewer familiar faces. She recognized none of the Posh Totties, and that saddened her. But she knew things moved on, whether she wanted them to or not, and that there would always be girls to fill in the bare spots.
Before she realized it she was swarmed by First Years, who knew exactly who she was and her legacy to the school. She laughed a bit and let them herd her to a chair in the middle of the room. After all, she was a celebrity now, an actress on a hit show on BBC One. While she had always enjoyed acting, her time at St. Trinian’s had given her the courage to actively pursue it, with great results. She was mostly sure the First Years would do nothing to harm her. And indeed, when they pushed a book in her hands, asking for a story, she relaxed.
Until she caught the title of the book.
“Is this really appropriate?” she asked, her eyes widening as she looked at the young girls.
“Everyone who reads it changes the words,” one of the First Years, a young girl named Lucy, said. “Still on the naughty side, but not that word.”
“Oh,” she said. She flipped through the book, skimming it, and despite herself found a smile forming on her face. Despite the vulgar language it was actually quite an amusing book. When she was done she looked at the young girls, and briefly noticed some of the older girls had stopped what they were doing to pay attention. She went back to the beginning of the book and took a deep breath.
“The cats nestled close to their kittens, the lambs have laid down with the sheep. You’re cozy and warm in your bed, my dear. Please, go the bloody hell to sleep.” She looked up at an amused chuckle and returned it with a smile before turning back to the book. “The windows are dark in the town, child. The whales huddle down in the deep. I’ll read you one very last book if you swear, you’ll immediately go to sleep.”
“Couldn’t you have said a swear?” another little girl, Samantha, said.
“Shh, give her a chance,” another girl said, elbowing her in the ribs.
“The eagles who soar through the sky are at rest, and the creature who crawl, run and creep. I know you’re not thirsty, that’s a bloody lie! Lie down in bed, my darling, and get some...” She trailed.
“Fraking sleep!” an older girl said. Her friends turned to look at her. “What? I liked Battlestar Galactica, even if Jamie Bamber did fake a Yank accent.”
Annabelle chuckled. “The wind whispers soft through the grass, hun; the field mice, they make not a peep. It’s been thirty-eight minutes already. What the bloody hell is your problem? Go. To. Sleep.” There were scattered laughs at that, so she continued. “All the kids from daycare are in dreamland. The froggy has made its last leap. Like hell you can go to the bathroom. You know where you can go? The…frak?” she asked, looking at the older girl, who nodded. “The frak to sleep.”
“I’m getting bored,” one of the First Years whispered. “Not enough vulgarity.”
“The owls fly forth from the treetops, through the air they soar and they sweep. A hot crimson rage fills my heart, love. For real…” Annabelle faltered, then closed the book. “I just can’t do it. I don’t have the level of vulgarity you want.”
“Then tell us a better story,” Lucy said.
“That, I can do,” she said with a smile. “Do you want fiction or non-fiction?”
“Celebrity gossip!” one of the Posh Totties said.
“Something from work,” the bored First Year said. “Something with intrigue.”
“Stories about your times as Head Girl,” the current Head Girl, a spunky redhead named Amelia said. The other girls looked at each other and nodded, and soon there was a murmur of agreement.
“I have the perfect story,” she said. “One time, we had to go dig up a grave for clues to a treasure, and I was possessed by one of my ancestors…”