The lesson had only been marred by the fact I found myself watching the door, waiting to see if Tristan Prince would arrive and if he did what part of him I’d want to cut off next. I’d also spent a lot of time wondering why I wanted to chop him into small pieces and hide him in a freezer.
My eyes swept the dinner hall. He wasn’t there, and my stomach dipped—with relief. “I hear English was exciting this morning?” Phil stabbed at some peas with her fork, they darted across her plate in escape.
“The teacher grilled me on Romeo and Juliet, it was awful. I don’t think she liked my assessment.”
Phil laughed. “I don’t doubt it, she’s obsessed with that play. We all study it every year no matter how many times we’ve done it before.”
“Really” I scrunched my face. “I can’t think why anyone would want to read it that much.
“Anyway, Miss-Diversion-Tactics, that’s not what I’m talking about. Apparently, Tristan Prince stormed out when he saw you.”
I flushed. “That’s not true. It couldn’t have been me, I’ve never spoken to him.” This wasn’t true. I didn’t know what was going on, or even why, but I knew one very simple fact; I’d never hated anyone as much as I hated him. Irrational, insane, but true.
“Maybe.” She shrugged pulling my attention back to our conversation. “I wonder what his problem is? Yes, he’s an obnoxious, pretentious arse, but taking a disliking to you before you’ve properly met is rude even for him.”
I didn’t know whether to be relieved he was always standoffish, or to despair that he hated me on sight. But then what did that matter? The burn of fury I’d felt when I’d laid eyes on him still smouldered in my veins.
I wanted to chase him down and sock him in the face. But why? I couldn’t even pretend that was a normal reaction.
I assessed my plate and couldn’t find a single item I wanted to put in my mouth. “So,” I tried to sound natural, “he’s always moody like that?” I couldn’t say his name, scared it was going to burn my throat with vile acid.
Her hazel eyes settled on my face and she pulled a face, her mouth full of peas. “Well you know, rich bitch, my dick's gonna itch.”
I snorted, a bubble of laughter making me cough until I was close to suffocating. I placed my head on the table and tried to stay alive. This castle was going to kill me with starvation and damp, not by giggling. “So, he sleeps around?” I wasn’t surprised. He looked like girls would drag themselves limbless to lie in his path.
She shrugged, the tips of her ears tingeing pink. “Not in this direction.” She stabbed at her plate again. “Anywhooo.” She gave up on the peas and went for her soggy potato instead. I stared at my bean burger in bewilderment. It was generous of the kitchen staff to try and cater for the annoying American vegetarian, but actually as I eyed the rounded brown splodge, part of me wished they hadn’t bothered. I’d grabbed a glass of room temperature milk at the serving hatch, so I made do with sipping that down. “Tonight, we are having your welcome party.”
I choked on the milk. “A… sorry what did you say?”
“A party? You have those in New York, right?” Phil chuckled to herself. I almost corrected her to Queens again but there wasn’t much point.
“Yes, parties are sometimes had in New York.” I couldn’t help but smile at her. This place was weird, and the people were weirder, but I got her. Something about the crazy Brit spoke to me.
“So, you’ll come?”
“The party is for me, right? It would be rude not to.”
My eyes swept along the vaulted ceiling. The draft in the hall was penetrable. I didn’t think I’d ever been anywhere so dismal and depressing in my life. “I don’t blame you for needing a party every so often.”
“See, you get it already. It’s more a social gathering than a party, but whatever. It keeps us sane.” My eyebrows raised into my hairline. I wasn’t sure sanity was a viable mental state at Fire Stone, but I bit my tongue.
Phil glanced at my plate. “Aren’t you going to eat that?”
“I’m not looking forward to it.” The veggie burger was an unappealing, dried-up mess.
“The cooks feelings will be hurt,” she slid a hand into the pocket of her blazer. “Here hide it in my hanky.”
I watched as she wrapped the burger in a square of cotton and popped it back into her pocket “Buster will want it anyway.”
I didn’t know what question to ask first. One exploded. “Why on earth do you have a hanky?”
Phil shrugged, “Guess I learnt it from my dad. He always has one shoved in his pocket.” She pushed back from her chair and motioned for me to follow, strolling for the exit and back to the sleeping quarters. The day was done—well, apart from the party.
“Who’s Buster?” I scrambled to keep up with her determined pace.
“You’ll see.”
In my room, and alone for the first time all day, I flopped on my bed. Rain was still pelting the window. What a day. The girls seemed nice. Those who recognised me from the cabbage fuelled lunch yesterday had waved and spoken when they’d been able. Everyone was friendly.
There was one glaring omission to this statement.
I closed my eyes, remembering what he’d looked like standing at the door to English; the way his eyes had smouldered like burning coals as they fell on me.
I didn’t like him.
I hadn’t spoken one word to him. But I didn’t like him, and it was nothing to do with the fact my blood boiled, and I wanted to physically hurt him every time he was in sight.
His arrogance rolled off him in waves. I’d seen boys like that before: the jocks on the teams back home, their confidence something innate and inbuilt. They’d popped out
