So sorry, all you Highland Lassies who get to go to Gregorstoun this year and were hoping to lay eyes on Seb the Dreamboat/Hot Mess! At least you’ll have pretty views to look at? And sheep? Honestly, a sheep would probably make a better boyfriend than that dude, let’s be real.
(“Dreams! Crushed!!” from Crown Town)
CHAPTER 6
“Will you have to wear plaid all the time?”
Lee sits on the end of my bed, hands clasped between his knees as he watches me pull things out of my closet. It’s mid-August, which means it’s very hard to imagine a time when I’ll need heavy coats, but the weather app on my phone tells me that if I were in Scotland right now, I’d want to be wrapped in wool. Besides, I won’t be back home until December, so my heaviest winter coat gets tossed on the bed with the rest of the things I’m packing.
“The uniforms are plaid,” I tell Lee. “But a dark plaid, so it’s not so bad.”
Lee attempts a smile, but his eyes keep returning to my suitcase.
Walking over, I put a hand on his shoulder. “The internet exists,” I remind him. “Email, FaceTime, Facebook, probably some other face-based technology they’ll invent while I’m over there . . .”
That gets a genuine smile out of him at least, and he runs a hand over his hair. “Face Plate,” he suggests. “Faces showing up in your plates so you can eat dinner together.”
Giggling, I throw another pair of socks in my bag. “Gross. I don’t want to eat off your face.”
Lee smirks. “Then I guess you don’t even want me to get into Toilet Time, because that’s where technology will really take off.”
“Why am I friends with a boy?” I muse to my poster of Finnigan Sparks, tapping my fingers against his space helmet.
“Because you love me,” Lee replies, and I heave a sigh.
“Sadly, I do.”
Lee is not doing great with the whole Me in Scotland Thing, but he’s definitely trying at least, hence the moral support while I pack. Gregorstoun’s first day is later than Pecos High’s, so he’s already back in school, while I have a week before I’ll start my senior year.
It’s a weird thought, graduating somewhere else. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited about finishing my high school experience in another country, but it still felt bizarre, looking at everyone’s First Day of School pics on social media last week.
“Have you talked to Darcy?” he asks, and I turn away, shrugging.
“A little.”
That wasn’t really true. She’d finally responded to my text with a HEY GIRL! Sorry, been CRAZY BUSY! but that was about it. True, she and I have never been as close as me and Lee (or me and Jude, or Darcy and Jude), but it still stung, and I can’t escape the feeling that she might be a little happy to have been right. I’ve seen more pics of her and Jude hanging out on Instagram and Snapchat over the past two weeks than I have in over a year.
Now that Jude and I aren’t friends—or More Than Friends—anymore, it seems like Darcy has taken back Her Rightful Place.
“And have you talked to Jude?” Lee asks, pulling me from my thoughts, and I point at him.
“You know all Jude talk is still forbidden.”
Usually, my Pointy Finger of Justice is enough to dissuade Lee, but now he just grabs it, pushing my finger out of his face. “We’ve had a two-week Jude-Free Zone,” he says. “I think the statute of limitations is up. Have you talked to her?”
Sighing, I pull my finger out of his grip and flop into the chair at my desk. “No. But why should I? Did you miss the part where she broke my heart?”
“A, that rhymes,” Lee replies, “and B, no, I didn’t. I am very Team You in this, trust me, I just . . . don’t want you to leave feeling unresolved. You deserve your big country-song moment where you tell her how much she sucks and then commit felony vandalism on her property.”
I laugh at that, shaking my head. “Right, because me and confrontation are BFFs.”
“You could stand to be a liiiiittttle bit more confrontational, it’s true,” Lee says, holding his thumb and forefinger apart. “How you can be so competitive, but still hate arguing—”
“I’m not that competitive,” I interrupt, and Lee makes a rude noise.
“Okay, tell that to my neck. You know that game of Red Rover in fifth grade is why I can’t turn my head all the way to the left, right?”
“It’s been nearly seven years, Lee, let it go,” I joke, tossing a pair of socks at him. “And why are you so worried about me dealing with Jude anyway? Don’t you have your own romantic life to fret over?”
Lee throws the socks back at me with a snort. “My dating life is fret-free at the moment. I have a date with Noah this Friday, thankyouverymuch.”
“Chicken Finger Place Guy?”
Lee wrinkles his nose. “Y’all have got to stop calling him that.”
Laughing, I turn back to my packing. “Sorry, you called him that first, and now it’s stuck. I look forward to you one day becoming Mr. Chicken Finger Place Guy.”
With a groan, Lee flops onto his stomach on my bed, sending a few pillows thudding to the floor. “Miiilllllllllliiiiie,” he whines. “Why do you have to leave me? What’s Scotland got that Texas doesn’t? Other than discernible seasons, I guess.”
“All kinds of things,” I tell him. “Kilts.”
“I can wear a kilt.”
“Bagpipes.”
“I’ll learn those.”
“Cool geology.”
“Texas has so many damn rocks, Mill.”
Grinning, I put another sweater in my suitcase. “It’s different,” I say. “And I’m ready to be somewhere different for a little while.”
“Just promise me you’re doing this because you really want to go have fun, exciting new experiences,” Lee says, picking at my comforter. “Not because you’re running away.”
“I am only mildly running away,” I tell Lee, holding up my thumb and forefinger close together like he did earlier. “The teensiest bit of running. Every girl is allowed that.”
I can tell Lee wants to argue with me over that, but in the end, he just sighs and says, “Fine. Then at least use your time wisely by hunting the Loch Ness monster.”
“That,” I say, giving him finger guns, “I can definitely do.”
There’s a knock at the door, and my stepmom pokes her head in. “Everything going okay in here?” she asks. Her red hair is pulled back from her face, and she’s got Gus balanced on one hip.