Page 21 of Her Royal Highness
It’s rainy this morning, my fifth at Gregorstoun, and it’s also the fifth morning I’ve found myself doing our daily run in the rain.
Dr. McKee insists this isn’t rain, but “mizzle,” a combination of drizzle and mist that, okay, sure, may not technically be pelting rain, but still ensures that I’m soaked within about fiveminutes. It’s also made the ground slippery, which is why my foot slid into said sheep poop as I rounded a corner.
“Oh, gross,” I mutter, pausing there on the rocky trail, my heart hammering, my skin clammy, my sneaker maybe ruined forever.
Sakshi stops beside me, still jogging in place, her long black ponytail swinging between her shoulder blades. “Problem, Millie?” she asks, and I gesture to my befouled shoe.
Her nose wrinkles, but then she just shrugs. “Occupational hazard, I suppose.” With that, she gives a cheery smile and continues her own jog, hair still swaying.
Suddenly I’m not sure if I like Sakshi very much.
Perry clearly shares my feelings, coming to a stop beside me, his thin chest wheezing in and out, one hand pressed to his sternum. “They’re trying to murder us,” he wheezes. “That’s what this place really is, I’ve tried to tell people. A Murder School.”
Looking back over my shoulder at where Gregorstoun sits on the hill, I have to admit it does look a little bit murder-y. It’s definitely very Gothic, all cold stone shrouded in mist. A few of the windows are bright against the gloom, which just has the effect of making the place look even spookier.
Shivering a little, I nod at Perry. “I mean, I can see it. They definitely don’t show this side of things in the brochure.”
Perry snorts at that, or at least tries to. I’m not sure he has enough breath for it. “I did wonder how they show this place off for the foreigners,” he says.
“Little more Fairy Tale, little less Death Castle.”
He nods. “Fair. Well, shall we?”
Looking ahead at our jogging classmates, I suck in a deep breath, flick my wet bangs out of my eyes, and nod. “Not claiming us, Murder School.”
“Two fewer victims for their roster,” Perry agrees, and off we go.
It’s hard to believe I’ve been here nearly a week now. Also hard to believe just how quickly it started to feel like home.
Okay, not home exactly. But there’s something about being here that’s made me feel like I’ve finally found a place to be my Most Me. The Millie-est Millie. I actually love going to class in rooms that are hundreds of years old. And while I don’t love running—should one run if a bear is not chasing one?—I have to admit as I look around at the hills rising up into the clouds, this beats the gym at Pecos High by a mile.
Stopping on the path, I place both my hands against my lower back and take a deep breath, my chest aching from both running and how beautiful everything is. From the smell of the rain and the rocks under my feet. From—
“You’re not going to start crying, are you?”
I turn around to see Flora trudging up the path behind me, a cigarette in hand. She’s wearing the same sweatshirt and sweatpants they gave all of us for our “daily exercise,” but hers look a lot better than mine do.
“No,” I tell her now, even though I had been feeling just the tiniest bit emotional.
“Singing, then?” she continues, raising an eyebrow. “Definitely not singing, right?”
“No singing, no crying, just going to keep standing here, minding my business,” I reply, turning back around to face thevista stretching out before me. I suddenly wish I had my hiking boots on and my jeans, my compass in my hand. I could spend hours out there, roaming the hills. This—this is what I came to Scotland for.
Flora heaves out a sigh from behind me, and gravel crunches, so she’s probably stubbing out her cigarette. I don’t know because I’m not going to turn around and look because I am pretending she isn’t here. This is just me, out here, in Scotland, communing with—
“Seriously, are you sure you’re not going to sing?”
Pressing my lips together, I turn to look at Flora, who’s sauntered up to my side. “Yes,” I bite out. “In fact, I’m really trying to enjoy the quiet.”
I make a point of emphasizing that last word, hoping she’ll get the hint, but Flora just crosses her arms over her chest and resumes looking bored.
“This isn’t even one of the best spots in the Highlands, you know. Glencoe, Skye... those are places worth swooning over.”
“Well, I’ll be sure and try to visit those,” I say, barely managing to unclench my teeth, “but this is nice, too.”
Flora snorts. “Where did you say you’re from again?”
“Texas.”
