*Jacklyn's POV*

I was still munching happily on the bread Avis had swiped from the kitchens and had a hard time not turning back to go for more. I absolutely love bread. Bread is my life. As is books. And games...and music...and my flute. OH S***! MY FLUTE! At this thought I stopped dead and caused Avis to crash into me. She opened her mouth to come up with some smart remark then stopped when she saw the look on my face. "What's wrong?"

"My flute," I whispered, still horrified. She stared at me blankly. "You play the flute?" I got from horrified shock to sarcastically angry faster than Horace could run when he heard it was dinner. "No, I'm only panicking about an instrument that ISNT MINE. OF COURSE I PLAY THE FLUTE!" All of this was whispered between us but the intensity of my voice was enough to have Avis take a step back and put her hands up in surrender. "Whoa. Okay chill out. I was only asking." I rolled my eyes, "Yes, asking a very stupid question.

"So, what about you flute?" I gave her a pained look and tried very hard not to groan in pain-which I was in because my flute is very special to me. "I brought it-" I got no further. "You brought it! Why in the name of Gorlog would you bring an expensive thing like that on an archeology trip in BRITAIN?" I took a breath and sighed. "Because I had too. I'm in marching band and its summer," saying like that should explain everything- which it should. Eventually she looked at me and spoke a little annoyed, "I don't get it." I couldn't help it. I facepalmed. Everyone around us looked at me strangely but I elected to ignore them for the moment. I was about to explain that the only time you practice marching band is during summer and part of school but was interrupted be Denise.

"Welcome children, to the scribe school." Well dang. So dramatic. To put it simply. The room was HUGE, and extremely busy. Like more busy than malls during Christmas time. People were going back and forth, holding stacks upon stacks of parchment. Others were furiously writing at desks; some were using fancy pens, others were using quills. I had a quill once, got it from the Universal Studios Harry Potter park. It was nothing special. Anyway, moving on.

A man stepped forward to the group- whom I'm going to guess is Nigel. He was thin, had a narrow face and eyes that screamed "Nothing gets by me and I am one to talk all day!" But then again I already knew that. "Welcome to the scribe school children. Now I hope you don't mind, but I've had one of my former students set up a small activity for you." Oh goody.

Another man stepped forward, this one even thinner than the first- if that was even possible. Oh wait wait wait wait wait. Lemme guess....George Carter. "This here is George." Woo hoo! Two in a row! I turned my very small attention span back to the two scribes. "Now, the activity is is simple. Grab a piece of parchment and a pen and write down something about your self." At that, the group went to where George had pointed out the location of the supplies needed and everyone set about writing their lives down. I followed Avis to a nice spot and we sat down getting ready to write. That's when Avis decided to point something out to me.

"When George said 'write', do you think he means in cursive or in print?" Well, damn. I looked at her blankly and she eventually friend away to look at what everyone else was doing. Guess what? They were all writing in cursive. Avis looked back at me, "Guess that answers my question." At that, she went about writing in cursive. I sat there like a bump on a log for a moment. Then I set about writing in print. Why? Because I guess my school never saw the importance in teaching their student to write in cursive. And I never had the motivation to teach myself.

I wrote about how I would travel a lot with my family, practice day and night with the rest of the band for our next football half time performance. Of how I wished to see the stars at night when I was at home and couldn't because of the city lights. Of how I missed hanging at the mall with my best friend and reading on my springy bed or jumping across the creek at our park and chasing the ducks with my brother. At that point a shadow fell across my paper. "Jacklyn," the annoying voice belonging to Denise, "the instructions were to 'write', not print." I stopped writing. From the edges of my vision I could see that the others had stopped writing to watch. I muttered a reply and she looked at me sharply. "If your going to speak, then speak to where I can hear you." I gritted my teeth and spoke as if the words were being torn from me. "I can't." She looked at me with a dumbfounded expression. "You can't? You can't what? Be more specific."

This is where things start to heat up. Arielle decided she should help Denise in understanding at what I can't do. It was obvious that she was trying not to laugh as she spoke. "Jacklyn can't write Ms. Denise." It was almost like someone had dropped a flash bomb in the room. Nearly all the scribes had stopped to gape at me before hurriedly going back to work while the rest of the wards started laughing. After a few seconds Denise was able to get them under control before facing me with both hands on her hips, "Is this true?" I shrugged. "I can't write in cursive, big deal." One could swear that I had leapt out of seat and slapped all three adults- yes three. Nigel and George had decided to join the little fiasco. "Big deal?" Why do I have a feeling I just made a giant mistake? "Big deal!" Nigel repeated with mor stress. Oh yeah. I just made a mistake. "Young lady, writing is very important. Any big job requires writing, long distance messages requires writing- nearly everything requires writing." I blinked at him. Obsessed much? "Okay. Well if you wanted me to write in cursive so much, why didn't you say so?" George looked a little taken aback. "I did!" I shook my head, "No. You said to write something about your self- that's what I'm doing, writing." Now George shook his head. "No, your printing. There is a very big difference." I gave him s look that said 'seriously'?

"Writing is printing from where I from." George was starting to look irritated. "And just where are you from?" Oh boy- I know where this is going. "Texas."
"Where?"
"Texas."
"You made that up. Where are you from really?"
"I told you, I'm from Texas."
"Stop lying and tell the truth."
"I'm from Texas! T-E-X-A-S! A place where people don't need to write in fancy lines that look like a child drew them to send a simple message!"
"What did you say?"
"You heard me, or are you deaf?"
"How dare you-"
"I didn't dare anyone, nor did anyone dare me."
"You disrespectful child! Hold your tongue at once!" That was Denise.

The rest of the group had gone back and forth as if it had been a tennis match of sorts. Now the whole school had stopped to watch and it was kind of unnerving. Nigel looked red in the face and George looked like he wanted to continue the argument. "I think it's time for the group to move on Denise," Nigel spoke calmly; a little too calmly for my liking. The woman nodded and rounded up the children while Nigel gave a word or two to his scribes and they all went back to work. Avis had so kindly turned my paper in under her's so they would be less likely to know that it was mine and toss it into the trash. As the group left- with me hanging out in the back, we passed George who was being nice to the younger kids and waving them out the door. As I passed by I spoke low so only he would hear me. "Sorry for being rude." Without a seconds hesitation I walked away with the rest of the group, hanging out in the back.

Avis waited for me to catch up, then fell in step beside me. We didn't say anything but understanding went between us. The realization that we were very far from home was starting to sink into me and I wasn't sure if I liked it. Avis bumbled in the shoulder and gave me a small smile. "Hey, next up is the Diplomatic Service." I nodded and we bother fell back to silence as we made our way to the next destination.