Page 20 of Her Royal Highness
It’s the guy from earlier, the red-faced one in the dark suit, and he’s putting suitcases in the trunk of a black SUV. He’s got a cell phone pressed to his ear, too, and as I watch, he drops a suitcase, flinging his free hand up in the direction of the school, and, I’m guessing, Flora.
Her lips curve in a slow smile as she lifts her hand to wave at him, but he’s not looking.
Then, sighing, Flora turns away from the window, flouncing onto her bed. She’s got the same boring white sheets and green blanket I do, and I can see she’s added some throw pillows. She’s also completely taken over the top of the dresser, and I frown as I look at the expensive scented candles, framed photos of Flora and a bunch of similarly gorgeous girls in big hats and gorgeous dresses, and... a porcelain hand?
Apparently a ring holder, since all the fingers are decorated with various sparkly pieces.
While Flora keeps chatting on the phone (To a prince,a part of my brain whispers,who will one day be a king, and who is her brother because she is a princess, you are living with an honest-to-god princess), I unzip my duffel and pull out the big Ziploc bag I brought with my favorite rock samples.
Yes, maybe it’s aweebit dorky to have favorite rocks, but whatever. I found some of these on trips with my dad, and others are from gem and mineral shows I’ve dragged him and Anna to. They’re a nice reminder of home.
Moving over to the dresser, I don’t look at Flora as I begin moving some of the candles to the side closer to her bed.
“Alex, let me call you back,” I hear her say. “I have a turf war to attend to.”
Great.
I ignore her, though, keeping my focus on my task as I place my favorite piece of hematite an inch away from her stupid hand statue.
Leaning against the dresser, Flora studies me.
“Are you a witch?” she finally asks. “Into crystals and all that?”
“No,” I answer, putting my citrine just to the left of the hematite. “I’m a geologist. Or I’m going to be.”
“A witch would be preferable,” she says. “Or at least interesting. What’s your name, anyway, O roomie of mine?”
“Millie,” I say, finally looking up at her. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to looking at someone this gorgeous. Because pain in the ass or no—and she seems like a serious pain in the ass—I’ve never seen eyes like hers, so light brown they’re nearly the same honey-gold as her hair.
Those eyes are narrowed at me now. “Millie what?”
Is this some kind of test? “Millie Quint,” I reply. “Sorry, that’s all there is to it. No esquires or the thirds or anything.”
Scoffing, Flora moves back toward her bed. “And American to boot.”
“Not just American,” I tell her. “Texan.”
“Will today’s bounties never cease?” she mutters, leaning down to pluck a magazine out of the leather handbag slumped on the floor.
I look at her for a minute, then back to my rock collection. Reaching out to run a finger over my favorite one, a hematite sample I got in Arizona last year, I make myself say, “Look, I’m sorry about the Veruca Salt thing. I was just tired, and you were... really loud.”
I’m sure princesses don’t snort, but it sure sounds like that’s what Flora does as she flips through her magazine. “Amazing that you think I’d be offended by someone like you insulting me, Quint.”
I clutch the rock harder. “It’s Millie.”
“Actually,” Flora says, tossing the magazine to the bed and looking at me with a poisonous smile, “it’s nothing to me, because you’re not going to be my roommate long enough for it to matter what I call you. And that’s a promise.”
CHAPTER11
It’s not that I object to physical fitness as a concept. It’s a good one, important for health and happiness, all of that. Yay, exercise. But there’s a big difference between popping into a yoga class on a Saturday morning and Gregorstoun’s idea of exercise.
For one, it starts at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m.
For another, it’s running.
We did laps back at Pecos High, usually when our PE teacher couldn’t come up with any other activities, and I’d never been crazy about that, but at least it had been inside, around the gym where it was warm in the winter, cool in the summer, and there was much less chance of stepping in sheep poop.
Which is exactly what I’ve just done.
