Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(7)

“This isn’t about anyone but me,” I say to Dad now, and that’s almost totally true. I mean, there are parts of it that are also about Jude, but I still haven’t decided to get into that with Dad. It’s not that he wouldn’t be okay with me liking girls—it’s just that things have felt complicated and messy, and I don’t really want to talk to him until I’ve sorted it all out in my own mind.

Jude has texted me a few more times since I saw her and Mason by Aunt Vi’s apartment. I haven’t known how to reply, so I convinced myself that I am too busy to answer her anyway, and that I need to focus on Gregorstoun.

Which isn’t a total lie. I mean, I’ll be leaving home and everything familiar. Yes, it might be scary. Yes, there is a part of me that is maaaaaaybe, possibly running away. But there’s also a part of me that gets more and more excited every time I look at the school’s brochure.

Sitting back at the table, I move a place mat out of the way to spread out my Scotland School File again, tapping my fingers over the different pictures. St. Edmund’s in Edinburgh would be cool. Living in a city that’s in the shadow of an ancient volcano? Definitely something different.

Then there’s St. Leonard’s, a big sprawling redbrick building on the greenest grass I’ve ever seen. It’s not far from St. Andrew’s, which is also beautiful, and wow, they’re really big on saints in Scotland, I realize.

Gregorstoun is a former manor house, this gorgeous brick building rising out of the hills, with ivy-covered walls and a very Hogwarts vibe. I fell in love with it the first time I saw it, idly searching schools in Scotland over a year ago.

I pull the paper closer to me, then realize it’s gotten quiet in the kitchen.

When I glance up, Dad is looking at me, a funny expression on his face.

“You’re not about to tell me I look like Mom, are you?” I ask, and he smiles a little, shaking his head.

“No, you actually look like Vi—which, remembering her teenage years, gives me heartburn.”

Then he points his spatula at my papers.

“Go ahead and apply,” Dad says. “If you get the aid, we’ll deal with the rest of it.”

“When I get it,” I correct, picking up my pen and pointing it at Gus, who crows at me before tossing his spoon to the floor.

“When.”





CHAPTER 5





For the next two weeks, there’s always a little bit of my head in Scotland, waiting and wondering. I sent in the financial aid papers the day after my talk with Dad, complete with an essay on why I am the perfect Gregorstoun Girl (it mostly consisted of “Look at my GPA and PSAT scores”). I rewatched The Seas of Time, I read guidebooks, and I started imagining myself wearing a lot more plaid.

But other than that constant low-level buzz of “Scotland Scotland Scotland” in my head, the summer unfolds as usual. Friends, babysitting Gus, working at the library three days a week.

Avoiding Jude.

That’s been easy enough to do, since she and Mason are Very Much Back On, so she isn’t spending nearly as much time with Lee and Darce as she usually would.

Well, not as much time with Lee, at least. I’ve seen a few pictures of her with Darcy on Instagram, and my last text to Darce has been on “Read” for two days with no answer.

So mostly I just wait and hope. Gregorstoun is supposed to send a letter letting me know how much of my tuition they’re prepared to pay for—so old-school of them—which means I stalk the mailbox every day, wishing I hadn’t waited until so late to apply for financial aid, wishing I hadn’t let my relationship with Jude dictate such a massive life decision. I check the mailbox again as I head out for the library on a hot morning in late July, but it’s too early for the mail to have come.

The library is only a few blocks from my house, hence a lot of its appeal as a job, and I park my car in the employee lot. It’s technically Anna’s car, but I get to use it on the weekends, which is nice.

As I get out of the car, one of the librarians, Mrs. Ramirez, is just unlocking the front door, and she waves at me.

“Any news?” she asks, shifting her bag from one shoulder to the other. With her cool haircut and hot pink glasses, Mrs. Ramirez is total #goals, and I wish I had good news for her.

“Nothing yet,” I tell her. “But there’s still time.”

Her face creases into a grimace of sympathy as she reaches out to pat my shoulder. “Any school that doesn’t shower you with scholarships isn’t worth going to,” she says. I smile at her, but it wobbles a little.

“Definitely my thought,” I reply before moving into the library.

I’m on reshelving duty today, so once I’ve signed in, I make my way to the back room, grabbing the metal cart full of returns, which I start pushing through the stacks.

After an hour or so, I’m in the back of the library, my favorite place to be, where the smell of old books is the strongest. It’s quiet here, which is always a plus, and it’s one of the coolest spots in the whole building.

I mean that literally. The air-conditioning seems to blow harder here than anywhere else in the library.

I’m supposed to be reshelving some old reference books, but really, I’m checking my email every five seconds. Maybe I won’t get an acceptance letter through snail mail. Maybe there will be an email after all. Even old-fashioned boarding schools in the Scottish Highlands have to be part of the twenty-first century, right?