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“A’right? I’m Finlay.”
When I mentioned the difference in accents, I wasn’t joking. Finlay soundssoScottish — not dainty and melodic like Freya, but something low and rough around the edges. I can feel myself gaping up at him as heat burns my cheeks. His gaze travels up and down my body, giving me the look of someone who doesn’t hate what he sees. This is such a novelty for me in Lochkelvin that all I can do is stare back at him with wide, astonished eyes.
A Scotsman in a kilt stands before me and my brain’s turned to mush.
Oh my God, I am a walking — sitting — cliché.
“Sit down,” Rory says dryly, snapping me out of my daze.
Finlay sighs and does as Rory orders, but not without a last-minute flick of his eyes at me. I fix my gaze firmly to the board, as though Dr. Moncrieff’s name is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
Under his breath, I hear Rory mutter, “She’s the Yank.”
I tell myself not to react. It’s a genuinely unimaginative insult — like, really, is the most objectionable thing about me the fact that I happen to be from another country? Is thattrulytoo much for their tiny, narrow minds to cope with?
Nevertheless, the side of my pen digs into the bone of my finger and I clench my jaw tightly shut.
“Mr. Fraser, class started ten minutes ago,” Dr. Moncrieff reminds him in a withering tone. I chance a glance over my right shoulder. Finlay’s tartan tie is askew and he’s leaning on a hand that’s thrust deep in his dark hair as he writes in his notebook. Meanwhile, Rory seems offended by his mere existence and is trying to budge closer to the edge of the table. Interesting.
Wait. Is it? Why do I give a darn about who or what Rory likes?
I don’t know, but Dr. Moncrieff is wearing the kind of expression I hope will bring down hell on them.
“Sorry, my man.” Finlay’s tone is warm and amiable, his smile wide. It strikes me that I haven’t seen himnotsmile so far. “Band stuff. I cleared it wi’ old Baxter, so we’re all sorted.” He continues to beam up at Dr. Moncrieff. “Carry on.”
Dr. Moncrieff looks increasingly irritated the more Finlay speaks. “I’m Dr. Moncrieff. And it’ssir, notmy man.”
“Sorry, man. Sir. My manly doctor sir.” Finlay’s face is all too innocent but there’s a wicked pull at the corner of his lips. “Apologies.”
As soon as Dr. Moncrieff’s back is turned, Finlay can’t hide his snigger. It explodes out of him like there’s no way he could have kept it contained.
“Oh my God,” Finlay whispers. “How’shea doctor? Lad only looks about twelve.”
Arabella shoots Finlay an angry scowl over her shoulder. “Will you shut up? Some of us are trying tolearn.”
“Oh, baby, but I could make ye learn so muchmair,” Finlay murmurs, dark and low and teasing, and heat rolls through my body in shocking waves as I fantasize aboutexactlywhat this hot Scot could teach.
I shake my head and clench my pen tighter in my grip. The only thing I’ve learned so far in the most sought-after class in the most sought-after school is that Dr. Moncrieff has a funny way of writing the letterF.
Just ignore them.
Arabella flicks her head back around with a small growl of annoyance. I feel bad for her. I’m the Yank but she’s the headmistress’s pet, and that alone seems to have attracted their ire.
“As I was saying,” Dr. Moncrieff states loudly, swanning over to the board and picking up the chalk again. “This is the first year of a two-year course. If you succeed this year, you’ll progress into the advanced year. If you fail, or even if you’re a borderline case, then unfortunately we’ll be saying goodbye to you at the end of next term.”
“Goodbye,” Rory whispers in singsong. It’s directed at me.
“You’re all here for a reason: you’ve demonstrated a passion and interest in the current political landscape.” Maybe I got Dr. Moncrieff all wrong. There’s a magnetic quality to him as he strolls up and down the room, and he almost makes me forget the two guys sitting behind me. “Some of you will be more fortunate than others, with connections to the ruling political establishment. Some of you will hail from less privileged backgrounds, from other countries where political systems are inherently different from here. No matter who you are, every single one of you will receive my undivided attention when asked for it. My door is always open.”
“This is a fucking joke,” Rory mutters under his breath, too quiet for Moncrieff to hear him.
For some reason, I’m starting to get excited. A teacher at Lochkelvin who openly admits to the existence ofprivilege, of apolitical establishment? Rory acting out because he’s no longer the class king? It can only be a good thing.
“There will be a series of essays issued throughout the school year, followed by your end-of-year exam. But first, you’ll be working together on a paired assignment to be presented to the class at the end of this term. This is your own personal research topic. I want you to take one area of politics that interests you and write a presentation around it. It could be a politician, an activist, an idea, a recent law. Introduce the topic, its history, its relevance to modern society, and above all, make itinteresting. Make it persuasive.”
We’re all furiously scribbling down notes following this surprising piece of homework. Behind me, I hear Rory heave an unimpressed sigh.
Arabella gives me a calculating look I can’t figure out then raises her hand high into the air. “Sir, will this count toward our final grade?”
