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This comes BEFORE the section in my last journal entry. Please read both!

The train station is crowded, which this Penworth guy says is bad, because a Felixus could be hiding anywhere. I would think it’s safer because they wouldn’t dare do anything with so many witnesses, but the schoolmaster seemed to guess that I thought that and said the Felixus’s can get away with anything. Talk about dramatic.
We took a lot of- in my opinion, unnecessary- precautions on our way here. I had to leave the house without letting anyone know I was going, halfway through my father’s funeral. My stupid mother wouldn’t even allow me a chance to say goodbye to Miles. She said, “you can’t let anyone at all know you’re going, alright? Only I will know where you are for now. I’ll tell Miles tomorrow, once all this about your father has died down and you’re off and set.” I miss Miles, and my big mansion and my bookshelves and even my horrid, immaturity-ridden high school with its long, white halls, stern teachers, and nasty children. I never found much pleasure at school. I spent my time with my face hidden in books, hiding from the kids and their cruel remarks. That is, I guess, the only place I’ve ever truly felt at home; within the pages of a marvelous story.
Mother let me take a big bag of books, but no more than that because she didn’t want me too weighed down on my trip to the train station. She sent me with Mr. Penworth, saying he could shield the car from detection and his powerful Delir would protect me until I was safely at school. The car ride was about 40 minutes, because he brought me to a train station in a different town to avoid the risk of running into danger where the Felixus’s might expect me to show up.
Anyways, right now I’m standing in the middle of a large crowd of people that hustles and bustles around me, like they’re all in fast-forward and I’m watching my life from a movie theatre. I don’t want to be here.
“The farthest platform, Isabelle.”
“Number 12?”
“No. The very farthest, number 13.”
I squint as I walk. Finally I catch sight of the sign labeled “Platform 13.” It is so tucked back in the corner that I would not have possibly noticed it if Mr. Penworth hadn’t specifically pointed it out for me. Something tells me this isn’t pure coincidence. I shrug. Whatever.
The only people on Platform 13 are a small group of girls and guys, and for some reason none of them seem to own any clothes that aren’t from Abercrombie and Fitch. One of the girls giggles, tousling a boy’s hair and leaning flirtatiously on his shoulder. I fight the urge to gag.
“Please, dear god, tell me those aren’t my future schoolmates,” I mutter under my breath.
Penworth smiles cluelessly, and to my horror walks right up to the group of kids, holding my elbow with one arm and dragging my trunk with the other. “Ah! Jaclyn, Peter, Samantha, good to see you again! Terrence, Laurie, how were your summers? Richard, I sure hope you didn’t get into any trouble over the summer!” Penworth waves a finger jokingly at a tall boy with dark brown hair who seems to get suddenly sullen at the sight of his headmaster, but laughs nervously.
In fact, none of the kids appear to be positively thrilled to see Penworth, though they all greet him politely. After that, however, their attention shifts to me, and I can see the smirk they share as they take in my red streaked hair, black boots and dress and cautious demeanor as I clutch Great Expectations close to my chest. I shrink into myself, wishing I could just curl up into a little ball and roll away.
To add to my great distress, the Mighty Oblivious One seems to find it necessary to make introductions. “I want you all to meet Isabella Delleure. She is a new student here, and I hope you all will help her feel more comfortable and at home at the Academy this year. Please show her to her classes and be friendly, we all know what it’s like to be new!”
The kids are smirking even more than ever, but the tall boy called Richard leans forward with his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Is-a-bell-a.” He pronounces my name with each syllable separated, mocking me, but Penworth doesn’t seem to notice. I stare at him for a moment, wishing I could just sock that stupid grin off his face, but instead I just shake his hand and manage a nod. A girl dressed in all pink leans forward. “Hi, I’m Laurie,” she says, and her voice is so perky I could puke. “I love your rag- er, dress!” The boy Penworth called Terrence snorts and the other two girls giggle violently. Ew. Ew, ew, ew. EW.
The Mighty Oblivious One seems to be living up to his name, so I decide I’m never going to get out of here unless I excuse myself. “Yes, I’m afraid I have to go to grab my book bag, I left it on Platform 1. Nice to meet you Gary- I mean, Laurie.” With a glance at Penworth, who scans the crowd and nods, and a satisfying glimpse of Laurie’s open-mouthed expression, I head back to where we left the car.
I’m walking slowly, dreading having to go back and find a seat on the train to what appears to be something of a prep school, when a girl suddenly pops up in front of me. She has bright blond hair in high pigtails on either side of her head that make it look like corn is growing from her ears, and she wears a green and blue polka dotted shirt with black and white checkered pants, white shoes, and a black tie. A grin pops onto her intensely freckled face and she grabs my hand and shakes it violently.
“Hi! I’m Elizabeth, but you can call me Ellie. Wow, it was just great how you handled those buttheads back there, just great! Those kids are never nice to anyone, really no one, so don’t feel bad, but you really showed her! Gawd did you see Laurie’s face when you called her Gary? She totally just gawked, and then she glanced down like she was checking to make sure she had boobs.” She pauses to take a breath. “By the way, I’m in love with your pigtails, I’ve always wanted black hair, but instead I settled for blond. And oh my! You have dimples! I love dimples, can I have them? But of course I can’t, you want your dimples, too bad, really a shame. I should collect dimples. It’d be rather hard to get people to let me have them. And then, of course, there is always the problem of getting them off peoples’ faces and storing them. Ah well, I shall ponder! And wow, what great boots! I begged my mom for a pair like that, positively begged her, but she wanted me to get these white shoes instead because she liked the funny design on the side. Want to trade shoes?”
I stare.
Holy crap, does this girl talk a lot. I blink. “I’ve never met anyone who’s been able to throw that much information at me in like, ten seconds flat.”
She stares at me, then a little smile spreads onto her face. “Yes, I suppose I get a little carried away sometimes. Sorry about that, I know I do it, I’m trying to stop the habit. The whole run-on sentence thing and stuff. I tend to spazz out a little bit when I meet someone I like. I’m Ellie, did I say that? Nice to meet you.” She sticks out her hand.
“We already tried that,” I grunt, and then under my breath I mutter, “I’m lucky my arm is still attached.” I’m still getting over the shock of such a long string of words being thrust in my face as I try to move past her to get my bag. She walks beside me, though, even as I hurry along, trying to look busy so she might realize I don’t want to talk.
Apparently, she can’t take a hint. “Hahaha, you’re funny. You’re a little grumpy, you seem rather anti-social, and you obviously hate schools, but you are funny!” She pauses and scratches her head, biting her lip a little bit. “Friends?”
I stop and pick up my bag from the bench where I left it. Who does she think she is, analyzing me like that? “Look, Cheery McSpazz-a-lot. I don’t keep friends and I don’t need ‘em. Leave me alone.”
She doesn’t even look surprised, but instead just takes it in her stride, waving my protest away with a many-ringed hand. “You do too need friends. Everybody does. C’mon, let’s go get seats on the train!” She grabs my hand and pulls me back to platform 13, which now appears to be empty. I’m dragged along, grunting. As we pass Penworth he waves to me and smiles and I return his look with an annoyed scowl that he doesn’t seem to notice.
Ellie drags me onto the train, humming happily to herself. “It looks like we’re going to have to go to the back compartment. All the other ones seats are taken up!” We walk, or rather, she skips and I get pulled all the way through to the back of the train. I try to get a look at some of my new classmates, but she’s skipping too damn quickly. Oh dear. I’ll just have to hope Penworth got my trunk onto the train, because all I’ve got with me is my book bag, which I’m almost tripping over- no, scratch that. I am tripping over.
“Owch!” I scramble up from the ground, completely expecting the slight snickers I receive from the girls in the compartment by where I fell. Spazzy tries to help me up but I pull my hand away. “I think I’ve had enough of being dragged through a train, thanks,” I mutter.
For the first time, a slight frown slides across her face. “You’re definitely grumpy.” Then she smiles. “But I’ve always liked grumpy people.”
I stare in amazement at her impenetrable bubble of cheerfulness. She’s completely mad, I swear.
She doesn’t even notice, just brushes her hair out of her eyes and continues. “I think grumpy people are funny. Just like…like pimples! Most people want to avoid them, but I prefer to pop them so that they’re not ugly anymore. I’m going to pop you, miss-” She stops. “You never introduced yourself! What’s your name?”
I sigh. She’s obviously not going anywhere, so I may as well let her know who I am or from what I can tell of this girl, she’ll just come up with her own name and start calling me Pimples the Grump or something horrible like that. I poke her stomach to get her walking down the train, and then say, “My name’s Isabella Cr- um, Delleure.” Damnit, I have got to learn to remember that I’m not supposed to be a Creour anymore.
She sighs happily. “What a pretty name…so much nicer than Elizabeth! Isabella….” She pronounces it like it’s some kind of fancy desert. “That’s so beautiful. Can I call you Belle?”
“Um…”
“Ooh! Like the girl from Beauty and the Beast. I can dress you up in yellow and find you something furry to fall in love with!”
My eyes widen slightly. I push in front of her and walk a little quicker.
“And then I can be Cinderella. No, no, not Cinderella, much too cliché…I can be…oh, I’m not the princess type, I’ll just be Prince Charming. I can get a top hat and a big black carriage and a suit…”
I tune her out. We’ve reached the last compartment, so I swing open the door and sit in the corner with my book bag, trying to scowl as much as I can in the hope that she might get frightened of me and find a seat somewhere else. Mademoiselle Energy Drink has other plans, however, and plops down right in front of me, still yammering about Disney.
“…or maybe I should be Aladin, because he gets a monkey. No other prince gets a monkey. They probably get dogs, at best, or maybe horses. Or did they eat dogs in those days? How long have dogs even existed? Wow, I can’t believe I’ve never thought to ask that. They evolved from wolves, like in White Fang, I know that much.”
I start. She’s read Jack London?
Suddenly she catches sight of the book I’m clutching close to my chest. “Oh my god! Great Expectations? I love that book! Pip has always been one of my favorite orphans, though I’ve never quite been able to decide between him and Oliver.”
“You- you read Dickens?”
She stops for a breath and watches me. “Yes. Yes, I love him.”
I nervously offer something up, hoping she won’t start rambling again. “I’ve read every one of his books. I’m re-reading this one…it’s probably my favorite one of his.”
She slowly cocks her head to the side, studying me with a most curious look on her face. “It appears, Isabella Delleure, that we have something in common.”
I watch her.
Her face cracks into a wide smile. “I knew it would happen eventually! These things always do, you know. I knew I liked you, and I was right, I was right! We both like to read, then? So can I assume you’ve read Bradbury? He’s one of my absolute favorites. Understanding metaphors hasn’t always been my strong suit, but the way that man writes I feel like…like I would be positively mad not to at least hear it all, listen to the way the words flow into each other, or the way they fight one another, or the way they hesitate…He just expresses everything so emotionally, I feel the words, like they’re inside of me. They mock the world or they sigh in regret, or they grin in triumph or they make you insane…” She thinks. “Do you know what I mean?”
I know exactly what she means. I know the feeling she is talking about, I’ve felt it every time I’ve flipped a page of Fahrenheit 451 or The Martian Chronicles. And she described it so well…she must be a writer, too, like me. “Y- yes. Precisely.” I glance at my nails, thinking. “Bradbury’s language hits me every time I read his stories, even if it’s the 40th time, and I’m sure I’ve been through some of his works at least that many times…”
Suddenly I snap out of my slight daze. Did I just let out some personal information? I never talk about the effect books have on me. Mostly because no one has been around to ask, but also because…well, it’s personal. This Ellie has a funny effect on me, too. She makes me feel like I can talk about anything.
She smiles. “You’re connecting. That’s good.”
“What are you, my therapist?”
“Just a friend.”
I stop. “A- friend?”
She smiles a freckled grin. “Yes,” And her eyes seem to shine happily for a moment. “A definite friend.”