Page 73 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

“Be careful o’ sittin’ on that fence too long, sassenach,” Finlay says, though not maliciously. “I’ve heard it can grow uncomfortable.”

“I’m just saying, surely there are other ways to reconcile political differences…”

“Can we just hurry up?” Luke says, antsy, his body as stiff as a board once again.

“I agree,” Rory offers in a haughty voice. “I’m not here for poverty safaris. Take us to Edinburgh.”

He sounds extremely arrogant, but I get the impression he knows it and will stand by being a complete and utter snob until his dying breath. Eventually, ugly and depressed concrete jungles morph into pretty and gentrified tourist hotspots. Streets become lined with cute independent stores and exclusive boutiques. There are vibrant florists and snug bookshops and cozy little cafés. We pass cyclists roaming leisurely along the road.

So maybe Rory is stuck-up. But when the other side is so harsh and this side so pleasant, then maybe I don’t particularly blame him for choosing to exist in bubbles. Anyone with that opportunity would surely choose the same.

But it’s not the whole truth about reality. It’s a delusion.

We drive over cobbles and into the heart of Edinburgh. Tourists wander around with maps and sunshades, wearing short clothes and carrying totes that readI Love Scotland. I stare at them blankly. Do they, though? Do they love all of Scotland in its entirety? The gray harshness, the grim bleakness, along with the easy prettiness of its most popular places? It’s a culture shock. Everything’s now a culture shock after the town from before. The tourists here seem like ill-informed aliens, creatures from the bubbled life.

But I know one thing.

As I take in its tall sandy buildings made from ancient stone, and the slope of the dark green hill leading from its city-center castle, there’s one thing I know for certain.

I’m going to fall in love with Edinburgh.

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