The important thing, she knew, was to build up a plausible story to tell people. Tapping the pencil against the thin frame of her glasses, she idly crossed and uncrossed her legs, feeling the delicate fabric of her new skirt rub against them. This skirt that she had worked for, that she had earned. Just as she had earned her place here, where she belonged, at the Academy. Bebe turned a page in her small notebook and began to jot down in earnest, as the spring breeze carried the scent of roses through her dorm-room window.
wealthy parents
old money
go on cruises, out of country constantly
The problem in a place like this, was that there were probably a few other girls who had parents doing the exact same thing. And what with one thing and another, the social groups of elite vacationers tended to overlap. If they had never heard of the “Durand family”, they might become suspicious. She knew that this school attracted the kind of girl who would go the extra mile and check, making sure your background was what you claimed it to be before bestowing her presence upon you. Neatly but firmly, she crossed out the last two lines and began writing again.
died on a luxury train crash in India when infant
This way was much simpler, and removed the difficulty of having to create personalities up for them, she could claim she didn't remember much about them, as she had been young at the time. And with her parents being nouveau riche, that took away the problem of the family name not being listed in any Peerage or Genealogy books. Her pencil hovered over the page for a moment, before she continued.
mother: Camille
father: Gilles
raised by
Here another pause.
raised by grandmother (Marianne) until her death two months ago
-sent here as no more family members are alive
With a slight flourish, Bebe set her pencil down and nodded approvingly at her handiwork. Of course, this would place her slightly lower in the pecking order, due to her parents not being old money, but she could deal with that. It was certainly better than coming in where she was now, a girl with no past and no family. It didn't actually bother her, growing up in an orphanage, or group home, whatever you wanted to call it. Most things didn't bother her, and it had given her most of what she asked for out of life, apart from Crystal Academy.

She had got here on her own, collecting scholarships and bursaries like they were cereal box codes. And she would keep rising, she knew it. This was just the stepping stone to a whole new world, a world of manners and class, a world of intellectuals. She would be able to surround herself with people who would fit better into her world, instead of just get in the way and slow her down. Tearing out the page in her notebook, She stared at the page for a few moments, memorizing the names. Then quickly and decisively, she ripped it up into confetti and tossed it into the small waste bin by her writing desk. Then, reaching into her desk, she pulled out a small box of matches. Just to make sure.