Page 8 of Lucky Strike

But I breathed through it. “Fine.” If Ma thought boarding school was the best way to protect me, I’d go. But I didn’t have to like it.

A key slidinto the lock of my door and turned, yanking me from my geometry assignment. I swiveled around in my desk chair, heart thumping unevenly in my chest. Classes started nearly a week ago at Edenbrook Academy, but my roommate had never shown up. I’d half-hoped it would stay that way.

No such luck. Smoothing my palms over the thick, plaid fabric of my academy-issued skirt, I rose as a tall, slender girl came through the door. She was gorgeous, her skin all peaches-and-cream, her dark curls held back by a pair of glittering barrettes. Tossing a leather backpack onto the unclaimed bed, she strode over to me, her hand held out in greeting. “Hi! You’re Bria, right? I’m Maeve.”

“Yeah.” Disguising my relief at her niceness with a small laugh, I shook her hand. “Hey, Maeve.”

“How’s Edenbrook been treating you?” She narrowed her bright green eyes, like she was trying to peer into my soul. “They can be a little bitchy to newcomers here.”

“It’s been okay.” Truthfully, I’d felt a little invisible, but that was preferable to being harassed or bullied.

“I would’ve been here to show you around, but…” Sighing, she walked over to our window overlooking the quad. “We were overseas for a funeral.”

“Oh.” I clasped my hands. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Maeve turned from the window, eyes roving around the room as she waved me off. “Eh, I barely knew him. He was older, a distant relation.”

“Where overseas?” I asked.

“Belfast.”

“As in Ireland?”

She nods once. “As in Northern Ireland.”

“Do you have a lot of family there?”

“Tons, from Belfast all the way down to Cork.” Her cheek dimpled as she gave a wry smile. “But enough about me—I want to hear about you.”

I twisted my ring around my index finger, a nervous habit. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Where did you go before Edenbrook?” she asked.

“Riverdale Kingsbridge. It’s a public school in the Bronx.”

“A New Yorker! You’re far from home.” Maeve cocked her head. “Do you miss it?”

“Yeah, I miss my neighborhood. My friends,” I said softly. “This is my first time leaving home.”

“Aw, I can understand that.” Maeve’s eyes softened as she nodded. “I came here in the sixth grade, which sucked, but I had a friend from home. Delphine. You may have seen her around. Petite, blonde hair? Blue eyes?”

That was maybe forty percent of the population. “Maybe?”

“You’ll meet her.” She looked around. “Anyway, can I see your class schedule? Maybe we share?—"

We were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. “Ms. Kelly?”

“Maeve, c’mon. Open up,” a deep, male voice added.

Sighing, my new roommate wrenched open the door. “Took you long enough.”

A tall, handsome boy with the same dark hair and pale skin pushed his way inside with a grunt, encumbered by two enormous bags and an open box of books. He dropped it all on the floor, wiping his forehead. “You’re welcome, brat.”

Our headmistress, Mrs. Chatham, cleared her throat from the doorway. “Mr. Kelly!”

“My apologies, Madame Chatham. I didn’t mean to offend your sensibilities,” he said, bowing a bit. Maeve snorted and pinched his arm, squealing as he yanked her into a headlock and ruffled her hair. I giggled as Mrs. Chatham chastised him, flushed with disapproval, but he justgrinned, his eyes finding mine among the fray. “You must be the roommate.”

Maeve got away, still lovely despite the roughhousing, and gave him a shove. “Bria, this is my brother Tristan. He goes to Sterling.” The all-boys school across the river. I was told they had a formal, long-standing relationship with Edenbrook, collaborating on all sorts of programs and activities.

---