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There must be a hundred steps on the wide staircase leading from the hall. My ankle twinges at the thought of climbing them all. But as soon as I take a single step, a door at the side of the hall barges open, jolting me to the spot.
A tall, willowy woman with gray streaks in her curled hair emerges into the hallway, her brows descending as she regards me with sharp, analytical eyes. Behind her stands a boy in a blazer. Unlike the woman, whose frown cuts deeply into her face, he seems to be quietly amused by my presence.
“Miss Weir?”
I blink. I’d been too busy staring at the boy —and no wonder, my brain supplies as I give him a slow once-over. There’s something about him that screams wealth, heightened status. There’s nothing particularly flashy in the way he looks — he’s in the same school uniform as dictated by the handbook: white shirt, black blazer. But it’s in his face. His bones. Wealth radiates through his DNA, in the straightness of his spine, in the tilt of his jaw and the cut of his cheekbones.
Aristocracy.
“That’s me,” I say quickly, realizing I’m still staring at the boy. I snap my gaze over to the woman, but not before I see the hint of a smirk on his face.
“You’re late. You were meant to be here three hours ago.”
“I tried calling—”
“Do you honestly expect there to be a phone signal here?”
My mouth snaps shut.
“Tell me, Miss Weir. How are things supposed to be conducted in an orderly fashion if children are popping in and out of the school building like demented kangaroos?”
I don’t know if this question is rhetorical or not. But there’s something so terrifying about being barked at by a Scottish woman that I offer nothing in response.
“The other arrivals managed to get here on time and are already settled. What’s so special about you?”
“My plane was dela—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Really, I can’t tell what’s rhetorical or not. I’m beginning to wonder if this is some kind of language barrier. “I’m Headmistress Baxter, the head of this school. I don’t take kindly to absenteeism or latecomers.”
I swallow. I’m abruptly hot — a hot, burning humiliation. It’d be less painful if the boy behind Headmistress Baxter could stop smirking at me like my entire existence is one big joke to him. I try to draw myself up, straightening out my spine to copy his stance.
“This is your Head Boy, Rory Munro. He’ll be showing you to your room.”
Your Head Boy.
Now that I look at him, I begin to notice the subtle things about him that elevate his status. Gold pins cluster and glitter along his lapel, the one that readsHBshining the brightest.
“I get my own room?”
“All girls have their own room.”
Rory’s lazy little smirk lessens at this.
“I expect you to act against character and be at classes tomorrow bright and early,” Headmistress Baxter says as her parting shot.
As she turns to walk away, leaving me with Rory, I shout, “Wait! I haven’t eaten anything all day.” An empty stomach had been a mercy on the narrow, juddering country roads to Lochkelvin. Now, however, it growls like the angry lion on the plinth in front of us. “A-Are you still serving food?”
Headmistress Baxter turns on the spot, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “You should have thought of that before deciding to be late. Now off you go with Mr. Munro.”
I watch Headmistress Baxter as she leaves. Rory does, too. When she’s safely ensconced in her office, he glances at me in a disinterested sort of way that makes me feeltiny.
“Another one,” he spits, circling me with that same bored expression, his hands in his pockets like it’s where they naturally belong.
I glare at him. I’ve only been around this guy for about two minutes and I already don’t like his attitude. There’s something about the curl of his lip that’s particularly aggravating. “Anotherwhat?”
But instead of answering me, he stalks upstairs, advancing up the giant stone staircase two steps at a time. He tosses a gaze over his shoulder to check that I’m following. When he realizes I’m still standing at the entrance, he folds his arms across his chest. “Well? What are you waiting for, a private invitation? A special outreach program?” He sneers at me one last time before stomping up to the next floor.
I follow him, confused.
