A/N: Well, this is my first attempt at a fanfic in a looong time. The pairing here is going to be (eventually, it starts slow) Kelly/Annabelle. I'd like to add, I don't own St Trinians or any of the characters, only my own imagination.

That final school year of St Trinian's flew by faster than Annabelle Fritton, Head Girl of the most ungovernable, uncouth band of youths England had ever seen, could have ever imagined. All around her, the end-of-term party raged on in true St Trinian's fashion; the school band took centre-stage, belting out the ever-famous school anthem for the sixth time that night, (though the words were noticeably more slurred than the first time around) hooked up to the powerful amplifiers the geeks had ordered specially for this occasion. She found she couldn't help but smile at the familiar faces all around her, faces that had become family to her over the past two years. Andrea, Polly, Celia, Chelsea, Taylor… Even Roxy had chosen to stick around longer than she had intended to. Surprisingly, she also spotted Ms Dickinson downing a vodka shot. It was odd how, she mused, in such a short space of time, St Trinian's could completely change one's outlook on life. She, too, had once been an outcast, a Cheltenham Lady who was taught to play by the rules.

Since she had been deposited in this school by her cheapskate father, she felt like a different person. Maybe she was? Or was she still the boring, stuck-up Fritton deep down? No, of course not. There's no way any trace of her old lifestyle could have survived the halls of St Trinian's. As if to prove a point, she dutifully accepted a glass of…well, something alcoholic from Matron's tray as she tottered past, trying to stay upright on a pair of ridiculous heels.

The result of Matron's new concoction had been countless empty glasses and bottles littering the dance floor, and the bodies of the pupils (ranging from the more-than-tipsy to the downright incomprehensible) littered among those. They partied all night, they drank until they were so pissed they forgot what the party was thrown for, woke up the next day and, after a hangover that thoroughly resisted any form of school work, were ready to do it all again. Such behaviour would have been frowned upon- no, utterly unacceptable- at a school like Cheltenham Ladies College. Here? It was just another day.

However, despite the alcohol in her system and the electric atmosphere (Which had, at some point in the night, become dangerously true as the First Years discovered the Geek's Van De Graaff Generator, finding it hilarious to give each other electric shocks that made their pigtails stand on end, until Ms Dickinson had insisted on confiscating it, giving herself multiple shocks in the process) Annabelle found it hard to involve herself in the party at all. At first she had a duty, as everyone expected the Head Girl to lead the chant. Now, on the eighth run-through, most had forgotten the words anyway and were making it up as they went along. It weighed heavy on her heart to know that although most of the girls would be back in September for another year of mayhem, she would be among the few who would not. Her school years were over and it was time to face the real world head-on… Was she even ready for that? She had only just settled here, and now she was expected to make a change again? Most ex-St Trinian's, after graduation, had no problem sorting themselves out for the future. They had, after all, acquired a dash of character that most normal kids lost through hours of revision and lecturing. However, this normally meant they would either turn to the extremes: fame, crime, or marry a rich London bloke who could support their lack of education- all depending on the character. Very few got normal, realistic jobs and lived a normal, realistic life; normal and realistic wasn't exactly their way of doing things. Even though Annabelle was a St Trinian through-and-through, (and damned proud of it, too, and would take a hockey stick to whoever said otherwise) she had still been brought up a Cheltenham Lady, and the aspirations and ambitions forced upon her then still rang true in her head.

As a child she had always wanted to be a vet- she had found the thought of helping little animals very compelling. Her Biology results, however, had been a disaster; Chelsea, Taylor and herself had found it much more amusing to throw the rock samples at the back of Andrea's head, or play golf with the leg of the life-sized skeleton model. She had a strong feeling that neither Chelsea nor Taylor cared much that they failed their exam. In fact, no-one in the room would care much if they failed, (except the Geeks, but they passed with flying colours, anyway. Perhaps not completely legitimately, but that was of little importance) but Annabelle suddenly felt like she had wasted a dream, and wished she could go back, be more serious, study harder. Oh god, Belle, you're being that boring old sod again. You're not supposed to care about things like that. That's what sets you apart from people like Verity Thwaites. She sighed, and, feeling confused, distraught and able to find no comfort in her drunken classmates, she decided wistfully to retire to her room for a while and clear her head.

Being Head Girl, Annabelle was no longer required to sleep in the dorms with the rest of the school's pupils. Instead she was given the privilege of her own room, a room that all the Head Girl's had used since the very first one had graced the halls. Flouncing down on the grand double bed, (it had often crossed her mind why the Head Girl would need a double bed, but was later assured that she really didn't want to know) she couldn't help but think about all the generations of girls who had slept here, and would sleep here in the future. She had personally helped Miss Fritton, headmistress- and conveniently her own aunt- pick out a girl who was perfect for the job next year, a level-headed, well respected girl; everything Annabelle wished she was when she took up the responsibility last year.

She had to admit, she didn't know much about the past Head Girls of St Trinian's. She had, though only on the rare occasion, met up with the Head Girl of two years back, J.J. French, a legend in the world of fashion and the walking encyclopaedia on public relations. Annabelle could almost see the cosy little room decked out like the boudoir of the Posh Totties, with the tall, blonde girl tucked up in bed, making deals with various clothing lines and magazines through an expensive mobile phone, and smiled. J.J was unusual in the respect that she was quite obviously part of the Posh Totty clique; Peaches, Chloe and Chelsea still have a framed picture of her in their corner of the dorm. Most Head Girls were natural individuals, which prevented bias between the groups, strong, confident leaders who could see anything for any point of view. The grin on her face faded as her mind wandered over to the one person who fit this ideal image perfectly, the Head Girl she knew best-yet least- of all, her friend and mentor, a woman far less easy to predict, slot into a social group or even find the whereabouts of. The illusive, mysterious, beautiful Kelly Jones.

Kelly was perhaps the most worshipped Head Girl of all time; at least, that's what Annabelle hears the teachers say. She had been the first St Trinian Annabelle had properly met, the girl who had put her through her paces- quite literally, making her run naked through the corridors of the school late on her first night. But Annabelle couldn't have a grudge against Kelly. No-one could have a grudge against Kelly. You did what she said, there was no other alternative. She was frustrating, cruel and teasing- but in a charming sort of way.

Over time, however, Annabelle had won her trust. She's still not sure how she did it, but she knew it was a trust not easily gained by any living creature. Her friendship with Kelly had left many of classmates envious, prodding her for information or gossip on their mysterious leader. She hated to disappoint, but she could only answer truthfully: She knew nothing. Kelly was not one for wearing her emotions on her sleeve, or anywhere else, for that matter. The only things glaringly apparent about her were her adoration for her school and the people in it, and her striking, edgy beauty that she used to the best of her advantage. With the way she would sashay over to Flash, pursing her crimson-red lips and battering long, dark lashes, Annabelle could hardly say she could blame him for being a stuttering prat in her presence… Even she found herself flushing under Kelly's hot gaze on multiple occasions. Whilst she disagreed with the meaningless flirting for the sake of business, she had still followed Kelly around, trying to discover anything that gave her an insight into her mind, and running the continuous barrage of tasks Kelly set her, partly out of fear, partly out of respect, and partly out of something that told her that if she did what Kelly wanted, Kelly would be pleased with her. And that, somehow, was good.

Then, she was gone.

She had left Annabelle an encouraging letter, her phone number, and her job as Head Girl, shoes Annabelle felt she could never entirely fill. At first she had called Kelly nearly every day, desperate for advice on how to gain respect as the new Head Girl, yet equally desperate just to hear her voice down the phone, and as far as Annabelle was concerned, that meant she hadn't gotten herself into too much trouble and was still within reach, should she need to call upon her skills at some point. However, she got rarely got through to Kelly herself. (The times she did, the ex-Head would have to leave really quickly and abruptly only minutes into the conversation) It scared her, but she tried not to think about it too much and face the problems and difficulties of living up to the legacies J.J. French and Kelly had left behind on her own. Time went on. School without Kelly was never the same, but over time it became easier, especially when her fellow pupils finally started respecting her in a similar light.

"Girlie, can I come in?" A knock at the door snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Oh…yes, come on in." She replied warily, hoping it wasn't Celia trying to sell her mushrooms, or even worse, a drunken Taylor demanding her nail polish, hair tongs or virginity back, none of which Annabelle had taken or would be in time to take. Thankfully, the plump figure of her aunt swung upon the door and stumbled in, eventually parking her impressive behind on the end of the bed.

"Not coming back to the party, dear?" She enquired, the look on her face one of genuine concern "It's your night and you're here instead, moping your socks off."

"Not really up to it, Auntie. Uh, I mean Miss." She corrected herself hastily, knowing the headmistress disliked being addressed as 'Auntie' whilst in school.

"What are you thinking about, then?" Annabelle's face didn't even crease with surprise. Aunt Camilla had always been able to read her like a book, ever since the moment she walked into her office for the first time. So of course, she had to answer truthfully.

"The future. And… and Kelly, I suppose."

"You're planning a future with Kelly?" Miss Fritton quirked an eyebrow, but her toothy smile told Annabelle she was only being teased. She gave a sheepish grin back,

"No, no. I was just thinking about what I was going to do with my future… What Kelly would have done in my position…?"

"Oh, gosh, you're not worried about making her proud again, are you? You realise you've done as much as you can for this school, and every-"

"No, Miss, it's not that at all. I just ended up thinking about Kelly and… well; you know what she does now."

"Hmm, yah…" Miss Fritton mused, "Although I'm very proud of my Kelly for her, uh, 'success', I don't suggest you follow the same career path." She advised, picking her words carefully. Apart from Annabelle, Miss Fritton was the only St Trinian who knew, all too well, what Kelly now did for a living.

"I know, Miss… I'm sure that life isn't for me. But Kelly is my friend, and it's painful, not knowing where she is or how much danger she's in" Annabelle confessed.

Miss Fritton gave a knowing smile; her niece's adoration for Kelly was glaringly obvious, even to the short-sighted and slightly batty. "Well, I don't know how I can make you feel better about Kelly Jones and her Secret Agent tendencies, but I'm sure she can handle herself… I can, though, help with the issues of your future. For now, at least." Annabelle perked up, relieved to hear her aunt may have a solution,
"Oh, do tell!" She piped

"Dearie, how would you like a job here, St Trinian's, the home fort? You are, after all, a Fritton- Anarchy runs in your veins"

I told you it was going to be slow. Thanks for reading so far!