There was no way Lyra was singing.

When she'd showed interest, the president of the music club had basically [i]begged[/i] her to join. What he hadn't realized was she didn't know how to play a single instrument. His solution had been to make her a vocalist. Before even checking whether she knew how to sing. The club must be desperate indeed if they looked to [i]her[/i] to fill such an important role. 

She slammed the door behind her, fuming. All she'd wanted was the club adviser to sign one stupid piece of paper! That simple sheet was her key to freedom - her excuse not to come home right after class had ended. She'd never intended to actually attend the music club - that was just an excuse. One that, apparently, wasn't going to work. So she had to return to her prison.

In the midst of her rage, she nearly bumped into some white haired boy who was looking around as if searching for something. Why the [i]hell[/i] did he look ready to go to a funeral? Lyra was dressed in a knee-length skirt and a t-shirt - the school's dress code didn't require students to wear stuffy clothing like this boy was wearing.

"What, do you think your clothes make you better than everyone else?" she muttered as she pushed past the boy. She was a princess, and he was just some kid - fancy clothing would never change [i]that[/i]!