Her Royal Highness (Royals #2) - Rachel Hawkins Page 0,12

of what to do that I stayed frozen in my seat the whole time, not even going to look for the bathroom.

All three of them keep shooting me looks, and finally, as the Land Rover crests a hill, I turn back to face all of them with a bright smile.

“So where do you think the sorting hat will put you?” I ask, then lift my hand, twisting two fingers together. “Come onnnn, Ravenclaw!” I say, and all three of them blink.

Mr. McGregor chuckles. Or maybe he’s choking, hard to say.

“You’re American,” one of the girls says. She’s truly little, with ashy-blond hair and giant blue eyes. I can just make out the top of a plastic horse sticking out from one of the pockets on her leather satchel.

“I am,” I say. “My name’s Millie.”

The girl blinks at me before offering, “Elisabeth. Lissie, really. And this is Em”—she gestures to the dark-haired girl beside her—“and Olly.”

“Elisabeth, Em, Olly,” I repeat, nodding at each of them. They all smile politely, and okay, sure, they’re all like twelve, but maybe this is a good sign of the kind of people I’ll meet at Gregorstoun. Maybe they won’t all be Scary Rich People, but just . . . Awkward Kids.

Rich Awkward Kids, but kids all the same.

In any case, the road is leveling out now, and the school is suddenly rising up before us, just like the website only . . . real.

In front of me.

The pictures didn’t do it justice. It’s all cream-colored stone against the green, rising up four stories, a long gravel drive in front, windows blinking in the sun.

“Oh, wow,” I breathe, and Mr. McGregor looks over at me, a twinkle in his eyes if I’m not mistaken.

“Aye,” he agrees. “She’s a sight.” Then he sighs, brows drawing together. “Used to be my family’s home, ya ken, but now I just work here, shuttlin’ you lot about.”

I’m not sure what to say to that, so I just sort of hum in agreement and turn my attention back to the school.

There are a bunch of students milling around on the lawn, some in uniform, some not. I’m still wearing my jeans and T-shirt, since my uniform is supposed to be waiting for me in . . .

Pulling my backpack into my lap, I take out the email I printed out. Room 327, I read, my fingers moving over the numbers. My room. The room I’m going to live in for the next year.

With another girl.

That’s one of the weirder parts of this whole boarding school experiment—living with someone else. I was an only child up until eighteen months ago, and I’ve never shared a space with someone else like this.

Still, good practice for college, right?

Mr. McGregor pulls the car up to the front of the school, where there are already kids heading in, dragging huge roller bags. I have a massive suitcase of my own in the back of the Land Rover (gotten on sale at TJ Maxx, thank you very much), and before I know it, I’m standing there in the huge front hall of Gregorstoun, the handle of the bag in my hand.

It’s chaos, people weaving in and out, and I look around, trying to take it all in, a mix of nerves and jet lag making me feel more anxious than I’d anticipated.

I’m mostly surprised by how many boys there are. All kinds of boys. Boys who look about twelve, boys who tower over me as they make their way into the house. There must be five boys for every one girl, and I wonder just how many of us applied to be part of Gregorstoun’s first female class.

The ground floor still looks like someone’s house. There are paintings on the wall, little tables full of bric-a-brac, and soft carpets underfoot.

Ahead of me, a wooden staircase spirals upward, and, swallowing hard, I head toward it, lugging my bag behind me.

There are no elevators—or lifts, I guess they’d call them here—so I definitely get my cardio in hauling everything I own up to the third floor.

It’s a little less chaotic up here, and dimmer. There are fewer windows, and the carpet feels almost moldy as I creep along it.

Ew.

But I find room 327 easy enough, and when I open the door, there’s no one in there.

Standing on the threshold, I face two twin beds, one dresser, and a desk on either side of the door. In fact, if you open the door all the way, it hits one of