There had never been a girl at Welton Academy before. That is, there had never been a girl in class attendance at Welton before, because currently in the stone chapel of the elite preparatory school sat many a-woman-type.

Mothers, sisters, and perhaps the odd cousin or two sat on the pews of the chapel. They were scattered amongst the three hundred or so fresh-faced boys dressed in their academy blazers.

A procession of students, all boys of course, as established just now, followed behind the drowning sound of a bagpipe. Four banners followed, towering over the audience, and displaying the four pillars of Welton in shining gold embroidery.

They read: Tradition, Honor, Discipline, and Excellence.

At the front of the church, Headmaster Gale Nolan stood. He was an old man with white hair and a rather unfriendly disposition. Though at the moment, it shone with satisfaction as the bagpipe song came to an end and the four banners of Welton were lowered and situated appropriately. He watched on with a solemn nod as the flag carriers quietly took up their seats.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys, the light of knowledge," Nolan said, directly the attention to another old man who held a candle.

The man who had been tailing the procession of young boys – came to the front of the church. He stood where the youngest of the Welton boys sat with unlit candles. He leant forward and ignited the first boy's wick.

"The light of knowledge shall be passed on from old to young," Headmaster Nolan intoned as each boy lit the candle of the boy sitting next to him. In a quick and orderly manner – as all things are done at Welton – candles were lit up one by one.

"That seems like a fire hazard to me," came an amused whisper among the crowd of watchers.

The girl sitting beside the man who had voiced his thoughts pressed her fingers to her mouth to stop herself from giggling. "Uncle John," she whispered softly. "Don't make me laugh."

John Keating looked down at his niece. "It would certainly make this dull event a little more lively, don't you think?" He whispered back. "Just a little singe to those god-awful banners."

A barely-audible giggle escaped his niece's lip and he grinned.

A faculty member with brown mousy hair turned to look at him, a sour expression on his face and John gave the man an apologetic smile. "Apologies," he mouthed and when the sour-faced man turned back, John gave his niece a cheeky look before squeezing her knee and turning his attention back to the ceremony.

Maria Joanne Keating - John Keating's most beloved and only niece - followed his motions, her gaze turning toward the front of the chapel where the headmaster had begun his speech.

"One hundred years ago, in 1859, 41 boys sat in this room and were asked the same question that greets you at the start of each semester. Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?"

A rustle of noise followed as the uniformed boys rose to their feet and recited evenly: "Tradition, honor, discipline, excellence."

"In her first year, Welton Academy graduated five students. Last year we..."

Maria stopped listening, already quite familiar with the history that Nolan spoke of – of the prestigious reputation, the successful alumni birthed from its halls, and its obviously stuffy nature.

The latter bit, she had been privy to only because Welton had once housed both Maria's father and her uncle – Joseph and John Keating.

As a small child, Maria used to sit on the plush carpet of her Uncle John's living room and demand story after story about her father's and uncle's time here. She had grown up on stories about their misdeeds and adventures, about their strict teachers, and the ways they would sneak off the school grounds to "suck the marrow out of life".

While her Uncle John had gone on to university to become a teacher, Maria's father – Joseph Keating – had married Maria's mother only a few months after graduation and then enlisted in the army a few years after Maria had been born.

As all unfortunate stories about orphans such as herself went, her father had the nasty misfortune of dying on the battlefield and its emotional toll had taken her mother, who had already been suffering with a chronic disease, not too long after.

At just six and three-quarters, Maria Keating was an orphan. It was fortunate then, that her uncle and his wife and taken her in, bringing her up as their own in a small home filled with her uncle's purple prose and her aunt's freshly baked goods.

Now, at sixteen years old, Maria and her Uncle John had left the comforts of London, Ohio for the quiet and conservative Vermont, New England where he had taken up a new job as an English teacher at Welton and an arrangement of sorts had been struck between themselves and Headmaster Nolan.

Maria could reside in Welton but would be essentially homeschooled by her uncle. The only times she'd be around and interacting with the school boys would be during meal times and after school hours during study hall or free hours. But even this promised a bit of social time, it came with strict expectations set out by Nolan. He had been adamant that she not engage too frequently with the boys so as to not distract them from their academics or extracurriculars. She should not invite nor encourage any ungentlemanly behaviour from them. And, of course, Maria would be subject to the same strict rules of conduct of the school as a kind of honorary student despite her homeschooled status.

The forthcoming consequences of Nolan's strict rules were easy enough for Maria to understand. Nolan intended for her to be a recluse this year.

Not that Maria minded much

She was naturally quiet – like a meadow mouse – as her uncle had once compared her to.

"A brown meadow mouse who grins like the Cheshire cat. My, what an effective disguise it would be if I didn't see right through you, my dearest, sweetest niece. When will you shed your mousy fur and pounce, Maria?"

Applause came from the audience around her and Maria was shaken out of her thoughts. This gave her a good chance to look at some of the Welton boys.

A good handful of them had to be around her age, either sixteen or seventeen. They all looked razor-sharp and smart in their pressed uniforms. Gold pins of achievement shone from the breast pocket of their blazers and Maria noticed how some boys had more pins than others and some had none at all.

But, Maria acknowledged, they all seemed the perfect image of a preparatory school boy with a solid family name, a hefty trust fund, and a promising future in an Ivy League.

"As you know, our beloved Mr. Portius of the English department retired last term. You will have the opportunity later to meet his replacement, Mr. John Keating, himself a graduate of this school. And who, for the past several years, has been teaching at the highly regarded Chester School in London."

Her uncle stood during his introduction, smiling at the crowd of curious eyes.

"He and his ward will be joining us for the school year, though I assure you, it will not be of any inconvenience to Welton's current students." Nolan's quick acknowledgement of her made Maria cower in her seat, acutely aware of the eyes that trailed from her uncle to her.

She focused her attention on her hands, fiddling with the garnet ring that rested on her finger.It had once belonged to her mother. That's what Uncle John had told her when he returned – not gifted, as he emphasized – the ring to her on her sixteenth birthday a few days before they had left for Vermont. It was one of two "returned gifts", the other being her father's old journal. A journal that he had written during his time at Welton.

Maria hadn't dared to open it yet, something within her holding her back, and so it now sat on her new desk in her new room, among her new homeschooling workbooks.

After what felt like hours, the opening convocation finally came to a close.

Maria stood, wiping her sweaty hands on her tweed skirt. The chapel and gotten blisteringly hot as time passed – probably from all of the lit candles – and she was more than ready to step outside and meet the crisp air of autumn.

"Ready to go, my dear?" Her uncle held out a hand to help her around the pews.

"More than ever," she breathed, taking it readily as they followed the throng of people spilling out of the chapel. She yawned as he led her out.

"Tired?"

She nodded. "A little."

"It's probably from the trip," her uncle said. "Perhaps, I should get you up to our quarters first then. Unless you'd like to join me in meeting some of the parents and boys?"

Maria shook her head quickly. That sounded like a horrible idea. Standing beside her uncle in a room filled with inquisitive parents and students sounded like the most terrifying thing for someone who feared attention as much as Maria did.

"No thank you. I think I'd like to spend some time in my room and..." her voice trailed off as they neared Nolan.

He was talking to a boy with a blazer clustered with achievement pins and another older man Maria presumed was the boy's father.

"Neil. We expect great things from you this year," Nolan said.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Well, he won't disappoint us. Right, Neil?" His father prompted, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Maria could only make out a bit of his face from where she stood and watched him as he replied stiffly, "I'll do my best, Sir" before the father-son pair exited the chapel.

"Mr. Keating, John. Miss Maria Keating," Nolan nodded, his eyes – thankfully – drifting over her easily before settling on her uncle. Meadow mouse, indeed, Maria. "I've been meaning to check in on you. I hope you've found your living quarters well?"

"They are exceptionally cozy. Thank you, Mr. Nolan," her uncle replied, giving Maria a wink. The quarters were small, barely containing the books and records that they shared between the two of them.

"If there are any problems, do not hesitate to find me," Nolan said and in a moment that terrified Maria, he turned and directed his next words to her. "I've come to learn that your father, Joseph Keating, also attended Welton, Miss Keating. Yet another fine man. I hope you find Welton to be both accommodating and inspiring and come to understand how Welton produces such fine people like your uncle and father."

She flushed uncomfortably as Nolan's piercing gaze fell upon her. She nodded and forced a polite smile. "Yes, of course, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Nolan didn't appear to mind her soft tone. He nodded, satisfied, and half-stepped to the side to let Maria and her uncle pass through.

Maria had been told by her uncle that Nolan thought of her as ever the picture of a sweet, young lady. Quiet, demure, and docile. Only speaking after being spoken to. She had smiled to herself, knowing that the full truth of the matter was that she just didn't want to speak to Nolan.

She had always been a shy kid growing up, hence the meadow mouse nickname, but after her aunt had barged into her room after hearing her sing A Tear Fell by Teresa Brewer, she'd been thrust into vocal lessons that demanded her shed her shy exterior.

She was a work in progress, of sorts.

The freshness of autumn air met her face and Maria let out a sigh of relief. She breathed in deeply, savouring the smell of fall. It was hard to explain – the smell of fall. She could only describe it as crisp and sharp. Something that she always associated with new beginnings.

It may sound odd to some that Maria compared the dying of leaves and the end of a harvest season to a new beginning, but the analogy made perfect sense for someone who had seen a lot of endings like her. To her, the ending of something wasn't too far from the beginning of something else.

Endings and beginnings; beginnings and endings – they were cyclic. They were enraptured partners, never following too far from one another.

The end of her life with her parents had been followed swiftly by a warm and happy childhood with her Uncle John and his wife. The end of her childhood years, followed by her teens. The end of her fascination with The Little Prince – her favourite bedtime story – was followed by a profound love of literature and poetry. And now, the end of her life in London was being followed by her new beginning here.

Her uncle gave her hand a gentle squeeze as they strolled down the cobble-stoned walkway. "Welcome to Welton, Maria."