Her Royal Highness

by Rachel Hawkins

  “Give the Padawan time,” Dad replies, and I grin at him.

  He’s a good dad. A great one, even, and the idea of leaving him, even temporarily, is the only black cloud hovering over my perfect plan. Well, leaving him and Gus and Anna. Spending my senior year abroad would be a lot easier if I didn’t like my family, I guess.

  “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?

  But other than a text from Lee asking if I want to get fro-yo later (I do, obviously), my phone is silent.

  I’ve just shelved the last book on my cart when I hear footsteps.

  It’s probably someone wanting to use one of the study rooms, but it could also be people looking for a private spot to do . . . whatever (trust me, I’ve seen it all), so I steel myself for either/or.

  But it’s not a studious college kid or horny high schoolers.

  It’s my dad.

  And there’s a letter in his hand.

  “Is it . . . ?” I ask, but I know that it is. Dad would not have come all the way out here to give me junk mail.

  And when he turns the envelope to face me, I see the Gregors- toun unicorn up there in the corner.

  “Omigod,” I say softly, and Dad nods.

  “Oh my god, indeed.”

  I take a few steps forward, my hand outstretched, and Dad gives me a little grin.

  “Millie, you know this is just a school, right? This isn’t your Hogwarts letter.”

  “And you’re not an owl,” I remind him, “but this is absolutely the closest thing I’m ever going to get to a Hogwarts letter, so hand it over.”

  Dad does, but his grin slips just a little bit. “Millipede, if they’re not offering you anything, we can still find a way to make it work. Or we can try to.”

  I make myself smile back, even though it’s hard. I have to have gotten a scholarship. Gregorstoun was calling to me for some reason, I know it, and places don’t call just to reject you, right?

  But my hands still shake as I open the envelope, my chest tight as my eyes scan the letter, landing on Pleased to offer you a full scholarship for the upcoming—

  The scream I let out probably causes at least three heart attacks in the reading room, and I hear one of the old guys in the soft chairs give a startled “Hoozit?”

  Clapping my hand over my mouth, I look at Dad, but he’s laughing silently, his shoulders shaking as he wipes at his eyes with one hand.

  “I’m guessing you got it, then?” he asks when he’s done cracking up, and I look back at the paper, rereading carefully
, hoping I didn’t misread it because I wanted it so badly. But nope, there it is in black and white.

  Full ride, room and board, everything covered.

  I’m going to Scotland.

  Oh.

  I’m going to Scotland.

  OOOOOOH Y’AAAAALLLLL!!

  I have some INTERESTING NEWS TO REPORT! Okay, so you know how Prince Seb went to that Fancy But Totally Terrifying Boarding School in the Highlands? One of those places where your roommate is probably a sheep and you have to get up at 4 a.m. every day? WELL.

  It looks like Seb is DONE WITH THAT. St. Edmund’s Academy in Edinburgh just announced that Seb is doing his last year of school with them, and APPARENTLY the tea is that Queen Clara wants Seb muuuuuuch closer to home, what with the Big Wedding Kicking Off in December. You angels remember what happened last summer, right? With Boring Prince Alex becoming UNBORING for a hot minute, and knocking Seb into the dirt? Appears THAT little drama got Seb sentenced to Life Under Mum’s Nose.

  So sorry, all you Highland Lassies who get to go to Gregorstoun this year and were hoping to lay eyes on Seb the Dreamboat/Hot Mess! At least you’ll have pretty views to look at? And sheep? Honestly, a sheep would probably make a better boyfriend than that dude, let’s be real.

  (“Dreams! Crushed!!” from Crown Town)

  CHAPTER 6

  “Will you have to wear plaid all the time?”

  Lee sits on the end of my bed, hands clasped between his knees as he watches me pull things out of my closet. It’s mid-August, which means it’s very hard to imagine a time when I’ll need heavy coats, but the weather app on my phone tells me that if I were in Scotland right now, I’d want to be wrapped in wool. Besides, I won’t be back home until December, so my heaviest winter coat gets tossed on the bed with the rest of the things I’m packing.

  “The uniforms are plaid,” I tell Lee. “But a dark plaid, so it’s not so bad.”

  Lee attempts a smile, but his eyes keep returning to my suitcase.

  Walking over, I put a hand on his shoulder. “The internet exists,” I remind him. “Email, FaceTime, Facebook, probably some other face-based technology they’ll invent while I’m over there . . .”

  That gets a genuine smile out of him at least, and he runs a hand over his hair. “Face Plate,” he suggests. “Faces showing up in your plates so you can eat dinner together.”

  Giggling, I throw another pair of socks in my bag. “Gross. I don’t want to eat off your face.”

  Lee smirks. “Then I guess you don’t even want me to get into Toilet Time, because that’s where technology will really take off.”

  “Why am I friends with a boy?” I muse to my poster of Finnigan Sparks, tapping my fingers against his space helmet.

  “Because you love me,” Lee replies, and I heave a sigh.

  “Sadly, I do.”

  Lee is not doing great with the whole Me in Scotland Thing, but he’s definitely trying at least, hence the moral support while I pack. Gregorstoun’s first day is later than Pecos High’s, so he’s already back in school, while I have a week before I’ll start my senior year.

  It’s a weird thought, graduating somewhere else. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited about finishing my high school experience in another country, but it still felt bizarre, looking at everyone’s First Day of School pics on social media last week.

  “Have you talked to Darcy?” he asks, and I turn away, shrugging.

  “A little.”

  That wasn’t really true. She’d finally responded to my text with a HEY GIRL! Sorry, been CRAZY BUSY! but that was about it. True, she and I have never been as close as me and Lee (or me and Jude, or Darcy and Jude), but it still stung, and I can’t escape the feeling that she might be a little happy to have been right. I’ve seen more pics of her and Jude hanging out on Instagram and Snapchat over the past two weeks than I have in over a year.

  Now that Jude and I aren’t friends—or More Than Friends—anymore, it seems like Darcy has taken back Her Rightful Place.

  “And have you talked to Jude?” Lee asks, pulling me from my thoughts, and I point at him.

  “You know all Jude talk is still forbidden.”

  Usually, my Pointy Finger of Justice is enough to dissuade Lee, but now he just grabs it, pushing my finger out of his face. “We’ve had a two-week Jude-Free Zone,” he says. “I think the statute of limitations is up. Have you talked to her?”

  Sighing, I pull my finger out of his grip and flop into the chair at my desk. “No. But why should I? Did you miss the part where she broke my heart?”

  “A, that rhymes,” Lee replies, “and B, no, I didn’t. I am very Team You in this, trust me, I just . . . don’t want you to leave feeling unresolved. You deserve your big country-song moment where you tell her how much she sucks and then commit felony vandalism on her property.”

  I laugh at that, shaking my head. “Right, because me and confrontation are BFFs.”

  “You could stand to be a liiiiittttle bit more confrontational, it’s true,” Lee says, holding his thumb and forefinger apart. “How you can be so competitive, but still hate arguing—”

  “I’m not that competitive,” I interrupt, and Lee makes a rude noise.

  “Okay, tell that to my neck. You know that game of Red Rover in fifth grade is why I can’t turn my head all the way to the left, right?”

  “It’s been nearly seven years, Lee, let it go,” I joke, tossing a pair of socks at him. “And why are you so worried about me dealing with Jude anyway? Don’t you have your own romantic life to fret over?”

  Lee throws the socks back at me with a snort. “My dating life is fret-free at the moment. I have a date with Noah this Friday, thankyouverymuch.”

  “Chicken Finger Place Guy?”

  Lee wrinkles his nose. “Y’all have got to stop calling him that.”

  Laughing, I turn back to my packing. “Sorry, you called him that first, and now it’s stuck. I look forward to you one day becoming Mr. Chicken Finger Place Guy.”

  With a groan, Lee flops onto his stomach on my bed, sending a few pillows thudding to the floor. “Miiilllllllllliiiiie,” he whines. “Why do you have to leave me? What’s Scotland got that Texas doesn’t? Other than discernible seasons, I guess.”

  “All kinds of things,” I tell him. “Kilts.”

  “I can wear a kilt.”

  “Bagpipes.”

  “I’ll learn those.”

  “Cool geology.”

  “Texas has so many damn rocks, Mill.”

  Grinning, I put another sweater in my suitcase. “It’s different,” I say. “And I’m ready to be somewhere different for a little while.”

  “Just promise me you’re doing this because you really want to go have fun, exciting new experiences,” Lee says, picking at my comforter. “Not because you’re running away.”

  “I am only mildly running away,” I tell Lee, holding up my thumb and forefinger close together like he did earlier. “The teensiest bit of running. Every girl is allowed that.”

  I can tell Lee wants to argue with me over that, but in the end, he just sighs and says, “Fine. Then at least use your time wisely by hunting the Loch Ness monster.”

  “That,” I say, giving him finger guns, “I can definitely do.”

  There’s a knock at the door, and my stepmom pokes her head in. “Everything going okay in here?” she asks. Her red hair is pulled back from her face, and she’s got Gus balanced on one hip.

  Seeing me, he gives a happy shriek and reaches his arms out, so I cross the room to the two of them, taking one of those chubby hands and pressing a smacking kiss to the back. “Going great,” I tell Anna. “I’ve almost finished making a Gus-sized cubby in my luggage.”

  She smiles, bouncing Gus a little as he continues to babble. “I’m sure he’d love that,” she says. “And then I’d get
to raise a kid with a Scottish accent, which could be fun.”

  I laugh and cross back over to the closet, pulling out a sweater. “You promise to smack me if I come back all ‘aye’ this and ‘bonny’ that, right?”

  Anna nods, shifting Gus to her other side. “Stepmother’s honor. Now, do y’all want pizza or Chinese for dinner?”

  “Pizza,” Lee and I say in unison, and Anna gives us a thumbs-up, which Gus mimics before they head back out into the hallway.

  Lee gestures to my laptop. “Show me this school again at least,” he says. “Let me form a clear picture of the place you’re ditching me for.”

  “Easy enough.”

  I’ve got the Gregorstoun website bookmarked, and I bring it up now, feeling that same flutter in my stomach at the sight of those gorgeous brick walls, the breathtaking scenery around it.

  Clicking through the pictures, Lee pauses on one of a bunch of boys dressed in off-white tank tops and long shorts that look like they’re made out of canvas. They’re all grimacing slightly at the camera, their pale skin red with cold.

  “Who are these jokers?” he asks, and I look down at the caption.

  “‘Class of 2009, participants of the annual Challenge.’”

  Lee looks over at me. “What the heck is the ‘annual Challenge’?”

  I grin, practically wiggling on the bed. “Omigod, it’s the coolest. They basically send you off into the Highlands in teams, and you have to camp out there, then find your way back to the school.”

  The Challenge was actually one of the reasons I’d picked Gregorstoun over other schools in Scotland. The idea of getting to be out on my own—well, kind of on my own—in the Highlands, wind whipping through my hair, camping out underneath Scottish stars? Yes, please.

  Lee snorts. “A camping challenge does indeed sound very up your alley. Hope those guys aren’t attached to having functional limbs.”