Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(29)

And for the second time that day, I watch Flora flounce away.





CHAPTER 15





“This seems bad.”

Saks, Perry, and I stand outside on Monday morning, huddled together against the chill. Normally, this is when we do our laps, but this morning, we’ve all been told to gather on the shores of the loch behind the school.

There are a bunch of brightly colored wooden boats on the beach there, oars balanced across them, and I have an idea of what today’s physical fitness is going to look like.

Sure enough, Dr. McKee comes to stand in front of us, dressed in a dull green tracksuit with the Gregorstoun crest over her heart. Her hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and her cheeks are ruddy with the cold and, I think, excitement. A silver whistle dangles around her neck, and she’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Students!” she calls out. “This morning, we have a real treat for you!”

“This is not a treat,” Saks says in a low voice, vaguely mutinous. “Those boats are the opposite of treats, those boats are—”

“Tricks?” I supply, and Saks looks over at me, hugging her arms tight around her body.

“I was going to say ‘turnips,’ but yes, I see where tricks makes more sense.”

“How did turnips make any sense?” I ask, but Saks is looking at Dr. McKee now, who’s gesturing to the boats.

“As you know,” she says, “the Challenge is merely a few weeks away. Consider this your warm-up. You’ll be teaming up with your roommate, and whoever makes it across the loch and back first wins.”

Ugh. Rowing a boat with Flora?

I look over to see where she is, and no surprise, she’s standing between Caroline and Ilse, all three of them managing to make their own Gregorstoun tracksuits look better than they should.

Mr. McGregor steps forward then. He’s wearing his usual uniform of heavy sweater and pants of an indeterminate color, his white hair bushy around his head, his beard looking especially dense this morning.

“And the winners of this race,” he says, hefting up an ornate wooden box, “will receive these.”

He flips up the latch to reveal—

“Antique dueling pistols handed down the McGregor family for over—”

“Ohhhh no,” Dr. McKee says, moving forward with her hand outstretched. “No, no, no, no one is winning those, Mr. McGregor, despite their . . . obvious value.”

Mr. McGregor’s eyebrows take on a life of their own as he scowls at her, but he closes the box with only a little bit of grumbling.

“No, the winners,” Dr. McKee says to all of us in a louder voice, “will receive a free dinner at the Bayview Inn restaurant in the village.”

“The pistols are probably less deadly,” Perry mutters next to me.

I have no desire to win a dinner out or a pair of antique pistols, but I like to win on principle, so I’m practically rubbing my hands together in anticipation as Mr. McGregor hands us all ancient life jackets and directs us to the boats along the shore.

Flora flops down into ours without a second look at me, sitting on the bench with her chin in her hands as she looks around.

“Do you want to lend a hand?” I ask her.

“Not really,” she replies, and I bite back a lot of comments to that, concentrating instead on shoving us out from the shore.

We were told to wear our galoshes today, and I did, but I can still feel the bite of the cold water through the rubber as I step into the loch.

Jumping into the boat, I situate myself on the bench, taking up my oars while Flora’s still dangle in the rowlocks.

Apparently, I’ll be rowing us on my own.

And that’s fine with me. Boats are not exactly my specialty, but I’m strong enough, and the water is flat and smooth as we glide across it. I feel my spirits lift a bit as I take a deep breath, smelling the mineral scent of the loch, the freshness of the breeze, the—

“You’re making the singing face again.”

I scowl at Flora, the moment ruined. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a boat passing us, and I row a little harder.

“Can I ask you a question and get a serious answer?” I ask Flora even as I yank the oars with all my might.

On the other side of the boat, Flora rests her chin in her hand again. “Probably not.”

That’s honest at least.

I pull on the oars, the wood creaking, and our boat barely inches across the lake. The wind has picked up, whipping tiny waves that set us rocking, and suddenly the water just under us seems very dark and forbidding and possibly filled with monsters.

So I take my eyes off that, and put them back on Flora to ask, “What exactly have I done to make you dislike me so much? Other than the Veruca Salt thing, which, given the way you were acting that morning, was fair.”

“I don’t dislike you,” Flora says with a shrug, her giant sunglasses still covering half her face. She’s got the collar of her shirt turned up underneath her Gregorstoun-issue sweater vest. Her dull orange life jacket is just a little too big, and her long hair blows in the breeze as I attempt to row us.

“You could’ve fooled me,” I reply, and Flora sighs, leaning back in the boat, her legs stretched out in front of her.

“I just say whatever comes to mind,” she says. “Sometimes it’s nice, sometimes it’s not so nice. Depends, really. You shouldn’t take it personally.”