A few weeks before graduation, after the high from the Museum Heist has started to die down a little, St. Trinian’s has a new teacher. This is hardly unusual; the turnover rate of teachers at St. Trinian’s is similar to that of dishwashers at a cheap diner. The unusual thing about her is her arrival. She walks up the long drive pretty much like all the other new teachers have done, but her appearance at the front door makes the girls stop and stare.
She’s not muddy, not covered in dirt, no evidence of explosive residue or water balloons apparent anywhere about her person. On the contrary, her chin-length dark hair is neatly parted, not a strand of her bangs out of place, and her shoes are still immaculately polished. The whispers begin immediately: who is she? How did she know about the First Years’ booby traps, and how to avoid them?
Miss Fritton arrives shortly, greeting the new teacher with a “How lovely to see you again, my dear,” sparking more whispers. The thought that she might be a St. Trinian’s alumna isn’t far from anyone’s mind, and everyone is curious. Alumnae rarely come back to teach; the vast majority, it must be said, end up either as criminals, or as crime fighters.
“Girls, this is Miss Haley Jordan, the new languages mistress. She will be instructing you in Spanish, Russian, and Arabic--” at this, Harriet’s ears perk up; she hasn’t really spoken Arabic with anyone in…quite some time “--to complement Miss Maupassant’s French instruction. Which, I may add, she also speaks, so don’t think you can pull anything over on her that easily.” With a wry smile at her students, Miss Fritton leads Miss Jordan away, presumably to show her to her quarters.
The moment she’s gone, Kelly turns towards Polly, request for quick information conveyed by a simple look and jerk of the head. As one, the two girls start up the stairs towards Polly’s office; the mass exodus of girls towards the dormitories isn’t far behind. Not everyone can fit into Polly’s office, but at least a couple representatives from each of the cliques make it inside.
A few quick keystrokes are all it takes for Polly to find out that no, nobody named Haley Jordan ever went to St. Trinian’s. A few more strokes, however, also show that this particular Haley Jordan doesn’t really exist. The next part is a little more difficult, particularly with the girls jostling each other (Taylor and Andrea), shouting out suggestions (Bianca, Chelsea, and Celia), and, at one point, pulling each other’s hair (Tara and Tania) in the background, but Polly still doesn’t have too much trouble finding out “Haley Jordan’s” true identity. Kelly and Annabelle, each leaning over one of Polly’s shoulders, gasp quietly at the information scrolling across the screens before Polly starts reading out the most interesting information.
“Her name is actually Emily Prentiss. Former American FBI…”
“And before that, Interpol.”
“And before that, St. Trinian’s.” That stirs up chatter amongst the girls, which turns into hysterical giggles when Polly pulls up one of Emily’s high school yearbook photos, circa 1985.
“What’s an FBI agent doing teaching at St. Trinian’s?” Celia asks.
“It looks like while she was working with a unit of profilers at the FBI…Ooh, she worked with Penelope Garcia. I know her. Well, hacked with her, anyway. But Emily Prentiss appears to have faked her own death, I can’t tell why just yet, and now she’s back here.” Intrigued chatter buzzes amongst the girls as the news is passed back through the doorway of Polly’s office to the rest of the students waiting outside.
“I’ll see if I can find out more, but this may take a while, as I’ll have to do it without arousing Penelope’s suspicions. Kelly, I’ll let you know when I’ve got more.” Not exactly a dismissal, but the girls begin to disperse nonetheless.
In Miss Fritton’s office, Emily sits down with a sigh. The First Years had gotten more creative since her time, it seemed. Despite outward appearances, the venture up the driveway had actually been fairly physically and mentally exhausting. Miss Fritton sits down across from her, smiling warmly.
“It’s Haley now, Miss Fritton. Emily Prentiss is dead.”
“All right then, Haley. It truly is good to see you again, dear. And please, call me Camilla”
“Thank you for offering me this job, Miss -- Camilla. I really wasn’t sure what I was going to do with myself.”
“And knowing the way the girls are here, you thought they might be able to help you find Ian Doyle, is that it?” Emily is a little taken aback, though in retrospect, she knows she shouldn’t be. She has to remind herself, sometimes, how sharp Miss Fritton is.
“I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but we both know how your girls are.” Emily has the grace to look sheepish, but she’s also a little proud. St. Trinian’s girls, despite their reputations, really can do anything they put their minds to, and Emily herself will always be a St. Trinian’s girl. “They’ve probably already figured out who I really am.”
Miss Fritton smiles. “I’m sure they have. But let’s keep up the pretense at least a little while longer, shall we?” Emily nods, a small smile forming as she does. Being back at St. Trinian’s feels a little like being home, to her. Not home like the BAU has been home, not quite. But even though it’s not the BAU, this is somewhere Emily feels like she belongs, and it helps ease the sting of having had to leave.