St. Mallory's Forever!

34 ABBY: A merry palaver.

Well, that title makes absolutely no sense at all ... but it's the closest I can get to the mess I'm in right now. Words, quite literally, do not fit into it. And for once I'm not just griping about my history essay, which is due in tomorrow, and so far totals about thirty words.

I'm referring to Saturday. And the two brain-gnawingly complicated affairs that come with it.

One: Inter-House lacrosse. Turns out we need two more reserves, besides the original team — which is everyone, plus Helen for our new member. But guess who decided to rear his bald head and steal two more of our best players?

The Duke of Edinburgh.

Okay, not His Royal Highness in person, let's be fair, but the Duke of Edinburgh Awards thingy. Dante had better have put a special circle into his inferno for assessors who arrange expedition dates over sports-filled weekends. So now, not only are we short our goalkeeper and one of our best wings, but our entire year group has been dragged in to play. Even Don Pedro has had to overcome her festering hatred of stick-related sports to join in.

Nasty episode during hockey in the Lower Fourth. Long story. Don't ask.

But, as if that weren't bad enough, that's not the even whole problem. No, unable to leave me alone for another weekend until the exeat (otherwise known as "parole time"), my darling mother has decided to take me out for supper in Brighton. With a family friend.

And him.

No, not the Duke of Edinburgh. I don't think Mum moves in quite the right circles for that eventuality ever to occur. No, I refer rather to him.

Forgive me if I haven't mentioned him before. I don't dare put the name on the blog in case someone from the school — or worse, my mother on one of her misguided forays into cyberspace — finds it. Long story short: he equals a stunningly attractive distant cousin who has known me since I was toddling around in sparkly fairy costumes swatting everyone with my flashing wand. Being three years my senior has enabled him to remember these incidents, and I go redder than Dracula in a toaster whenever he mentions it.

Mum even said I should "bring a friend". Ha. Over my dead body.

◊◊◊

Not surprisingly, with all this, I've hardly seen Xuan, Helen or the Don save for passing greetings. Helen said she needed to see me, Xuan and the Don together ASAP, but wouldn't say why. Obviously it's another development in the great St. Mall's Missing Music Mistress Mystery (how's that for alliteration?).

Well lucky them, that's all I can say. While they're all piled into the Mystery Machine, wearing their deerstalkers and peering at all the evidence with magnifying glasses in their every spare moment, poor muggins here is on a mission to pressgang the Lower Fifth into joining the lacrosse team as reserves.

Not that darling Don Pedro P hasn't got wind of my little weekend outing by now. I bet you it's flying all over the internet as we speak.

Anybody got a paper bag I could borrow?

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