Felicity hasn’t had a hard childhood. In fact, it’s been the exact opposite. She’s always had a nice bedroom, nice bed, nice house, nice car, nice toys, nice television — all the sorts of things a lot of people lust after. But it’s not her fault — it’s what she was born into, and she knows nothing else. Which is why, sometimes, when the family are out in public, she doesn’t realise what she is saying is wrong when she points at a homeless person and asks aloud why he smells. Or, perhaps, why when they’re out and someone’s car is broken down, and she asks why they aren’t driving the latest Mercedes, she doesn’t realise not everyone can afford it. Or when she’s round a friend’s house for an afternoon play date, and their family doesn’t have a nice television, or there are only two bedrooms for five of them. Of course, it’s completely Karen and Rupert’s fault, but she doesn’t realise that. They should have raised her correctly, but they haven’t. They’ve been too busy with their own lives to care. 

Many in her class consider Felicity to be snobby. Her favourite class is English. Closely followed by history. Felicity enjoys writing and reading things. She once had to do a piece of journalism for her homework, and she aced it. She loved it. Even though it was wildly advanced for her age, she’s at the type of school where they do things like that. She’s at the type of school where they try to increase a child’s cognitive development so that the child can get a higher paid job in life, furthering the divide between rich and poor. Felicity’s teachers have got high aspirations for her.