Quentin waved as Mr. Henry descended into the black lake. She turned to the professors as soon as the word 'swim' was mentioned.

She looked over and wrinkled her nose at the swimsuits. They looked horrible. Nevertheless she picked one up and started to change. They felt even worse, how could the professors even make them wear this sort of stuff? When she was changed she glanced over at them, WHAT! They got nice fancy, warm, not-gross-looking wet suits while everyone else was stuck with these, these things.

Gilly weed, eh? She was a good enough swimmer anyway, every kid in New Zealand knew how to swim. It was like a second nature. After all, the classic Kiwi summer was spent at a batch in jandals and a bikini. But she supposed it wasn't quite the same in England. No. It wouldn't be the same at all here.

She mentally slapped herself, 'stop feeling home sick and start practicing.' Now what could she practice on? She wasn't about to pair up and let another practice on her. What about some parchment? Yes, parchment would do fine.