Evening in the perpetual summer land of Frangea, even upon an elevation like Mount Syzywyg, was more a change in the quality of light than the closure of day.

Golden twilight sparkled across the sky and Anthera Malabona breathed in the pine-scented air as she leaned upon a balcony. Her thoughts were mixed as she viewed a scene spread below her that varied from moment to moment. At one time two identical girls appeared on a nearby lawn, bright hair catching the golden light of the sky. They stood there, one with a ball, the other poised as if to receive it, yet facing away from the other. Up went the colourful sphere into the air, descending in a perfect arc towards the intended recipient. Her hands were outstretched blindly to receive the projectile and she caught it effortlessly. This seeming miracle was repeated until applause from a third girl interrupted the game. The newcomer had red hair and an eager way about her. She wanted to try the game, posing as the other with her back to the girl with the ball. There was a pause, tense anticipation, and then the ball was thrown with deliberation at the redhead's curly locks. She yelped and turned accusingly. The twins laughed, retrieved the ball and ran off with their victim chasing after them, laughing too.

It was all a game among friends. Quick and precise. Neatly planned and perfectly played out, a thing complete, a memory, a moment, unforgettable.

Other shared intimacies unfolded more secretly upon the busy lawns and the gravel paths that evening as pupils of Miss Plazenby's school enjoyed leisure time before the evening meal, study hour and lights out so that the next day might begin anew with the same comforting regularity. Girls walked arm in arm, talking earnestly about some subject or other, hands fluttering to conduct their thoughts and orchestrate ideas. Who knew what subjects were being discussed? The voices were too soft, pitched too low despite emotion, to be overheard. One girl, wandering by herself, seemed to glitter in the dusky light, as if made of metal, unaware as she mused on some personal problem, a small gathering of others hovering near, as if in awe. When she appeared to drop something a girl leapt forward, retrieved it from the grass, handed it to her to receive a nod of thanks and then retreated again with a little skip of excitement.

Popularity. It manifested itself in many different ways.

Anthera sighed and let her gaze wander to nearer locations, for these sights though distant were no challenge to her eagle-eyed gaze.

A mistress sat upon the steps of the main building showing passages from a book to one of the upper school girls, guiding her to that final moment in her life when she graduated from Miss Plazenby's and took her place among those who shaped the destinies of the varied lands that sent their daughters here.

There was a glow from a lower window off to the right, jutting out from a wing of the building, but angled so that it was impossible to see in. The open window allowed the sound of voices to drift up to Anthera's balcony on the top floor, merry voices, chattering all at once. Then a moment of silence, a quiet rhythmic chanting followed by applause. It was the Ochre Study. Anthera wondered if Lyra Bellicosa was there.

Everyone had a friendship book. To be without one was to be without a soul. Anthera had taken hers out, bound in a dark blue that reminded her of evenings in Meditia among the ravaged hills of her childhood. She had dotted the cover with little white stars. Inside were pictures of sea shells and faceted gems on obverse pages. The others were blank, all but one, where she had written her name, her age, her Home Winkel and a feeble attempt at some philosophic musing as one was expected to do.

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"Anthera Malabona. Aged eleven years and two months, three days. Meditia Winkel. I have all I need, when I think of you," she read silently to herself the trembly written words. The last was a reference to her family, a caring mother, a strict but considerate father, one much older brother wrapped up in the family business already and a baby sister called Poppina who was a darling, though a little demanding at times.

No one else had ever read the words she wrote, so she never felt a need to explain their meaning. Ruffling through the empty pages of the book, she replaced it in a pocket of her skirt and then flinched. Another girl had joined her silently on the balcony.

"Would you like a biscuit?"

"Thank you Vetta," and she took the offered treat with a smile. The other girl, her purpose for being there fulfilled, made to return inside the dorm where a squabble of voices could be heard. "Tell me, Vetta," and Anthera touched the girl's arm, making her pause. "Do you think being popular is important? Or is just having friends enough?"

Vetta picked up a biscuit from the plate she held and chewed on it thoughtfully while considering this difficult question.

"My father says popularity is a drifting raincloud that may water a parched land or bring flood with its excessive burden. Then it drifts on and disappears, whether good or ill has ensued from its passing. Friendship though is one of the five well-springs of joy."

"Thought it might be," and Anthera stole a second biscuit.

"On the other hand," Vetta began again. "Miss Asterisk says popularity is the air we breathe, the lifeblood of our being and the essence of existence. She would die without it."

"Miss Asterisk?"

"She is a somewhat racy lady who hosts a grid show where her adventures are broadcast for all to see. Sometimes she finds happiness in a favourite pair of shoes, and sometimes tragedy when a boy she likes makes fun of them. It is very funny and perhaps true to life."

Grid shows used the world wide grid system of communication on Winkel World. It was open to everyone so long as a provider gave space to a broadcast which they would obviously do if said broadcast was popular enough.

"True to life, hmn?" Anthera said and shook her head.

"Where have those biscuits gone?" a harsh voice cut in and Pirouette Wrangly appeared on the balcony, all eyes in search of candy treats. She snatched the plate from Vetta, who relinquished it without resistance or show of dismay and the newcomer paused, biscuit half in her mouth. "What are you two up to?" she mumbled suspiciously, for the biscuit continued upon its destination as she put her question.

"We were discussing the amazing antics of Miss Asterisk," Vetta offered as an explanation.

"Ooh yes, did you see that episode where she tripped over a little dog, fell in love with it, adopted it, watched in horror as it tore her favourite cushion to pieces, you know the one signed by Diva Riva, gave the dog away as punishment, mourned it, and got a cat, which then disappeared like cats do so she purchased a rare stuffed crocodilly which frightened her neighbour so much she sued her for damages?"

"Yes," Vetta said and blinked for no further comment seemed required.

By this time Anthera had abandoned her balcony and her musing fit, descended the stairs to the evening meal and she was halfway through by the time Pirouette had reminded Vetta of another favourite episode of the popular grid show while they settled down to their own repast at the first year table.

This somewhat alleviated her concerns regarding the merit of being popular and when no one was looking later that night in the Wonder dorm she opened her friendship book, selected a page that had an opposing illustration of a glassy diamond and simply drew an asterisk at the bottom of the page. Above she wrote, "Popularity is an..."

It was enough.