It’s a freaking party—and a pretentious one at that.
Marielle and Olivia blink, staring at me.
“Wait, what? Are you being serious?” I scoff. “He chooses a wife at this ball? Is this the Middle Ages? It’s his birthday party.”
They roll their eyes in unison, like two creepy plastic dolls.
“Fucking peasants,” Olivia says, finally brushing past me. She takes care not to let any part of her body touch any part of mine, as if I’m some diseased leper.
“Pathetic. Of course she wouldn’t understand, Ollie, she’s from Grimdale.” Marielle turns her big blue eyes to me. “Things are done differently in Farcliff, Elle. We actually have this thing called class. You should look it up.”
She saunters past me without another look.
Rage.
My blood boils. My face turns beet red. Every stupid day of every stupid week, I’m made to feel like less. Less womanly. Less intelligent. Less worthy. Just… less.
Grimdale is only half an hour’s drive away, but I might as well be from another planet for the way I’m treated here. It’s not just Olivia and Marielle, either. All my teammates never waste an opportunity to make me feel like I don’t belong here—like working my ass off for this stupid scholarship was a waste of time, because I’ll never be accepted into this world no matter how hard I try.
I stomp out of the locker room and down to the warm-up area, even though my body is already burning hot. Olivia and Marielle will take their time to change their clothes and re-apply their makeup.
Yes, they need to re-apply their makeup before dawn. I’ll never understand it.
I’m not complaining, though. It’ll give me time to warm up and make my way to the shells on my own.
I heave a single scull onto my shoulder and grab my oars. The weight of the boat is already starting to calm me down. Thank goodness I row singles, because I might not be able to resist capsizing us if I had to share a boat with either of those two egotistical, uppity little turds.
Coach Bernard is already waiting at the pier. He watches me put the shell in the water and set the oars in place. I keep my head down, not wanting to look up at the massive, stone building across the lake. Farcliff Castle looms above me, visible from almost everywhere on the university grounds. It’s just one more stark reminder of how much I don’t belong here. I’ll always be the orphan girl from Grimdale, even if I do get this expensive, overrated university degree.
Coach clears his throat. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fucking peachy, Coach.” I kick my shoes off and set them on the shore before walking back toward my shell. My boat shoes are waiting for me at the end of the timber pier.
Coach looks at me under his dark, wiry eyebrows. He’s assessing me—mentally, physically, emotionally—just like he does with all his athletes. I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, meeting his steely gaze. He drills his eyes into mine for a moment, then nods and looks down at his clipboard, satisfied.
“We’re going for a steady, long interval practice today, Elle.” Coach checks his notes.
I sweep my hand through my short brown hair, pushing it off my forehead. Between last night’s sex party in Dahlia’s room and this morning’s encounter with the evil blonde twins, I’m having trouble focusing.
“Nice and easy,” he continues. “I want you doing nine-minute 2k intervals. We’re doing ten of them, so I hope you’re nice and rested. It’s going to be a long practice today. Here.” He hands me the small headset I wear to hear his commands.
I slip my boat shoes on and get into the shell. The boat rocks from side to side and I take a deep breath to calm myself down. The last thing I need is a dip in the lake at this hour.
When I’m set up near the marker buoys, I look up at Coach Bernard. His voice comes through the headset. “All ready…”
I grip the oars and close my eyes for the briefest moment. Inhaling deeply, I take in the scent of the water and the smell of the trees that line the shore. I savor the fresh, crisp taste of the air as it fills my lungs. My shell feels steady beneath me. My muscles coil in anticipation as I wait for my coach’s command.
“Row.”
My oars bite the water.
This is where I’m meant to be. I may be from Grimdale, and I may never get fancy little invitations to fancy little parties. I know I’ll never become ‘Charlie’s’ wife—or even see the Prince face-to-face—but I can row.
As my shell shears through the water, my whole body moves in sync—from my breath, through every muscle, and right down to the boat that supports me.
My height doesn’t bother me here. On the water, it’s an advantage. With every breath, I pull the oars through the water and sweep them back again, the blades almost skimming the glassy surface of Farcliff Lake. My body folds and extends with each stroke, and I’m free.
If I could fly, I imagine it would feel like this. It’s effortless, smooth.
It’s magic.
The air rushes around my body as my blood starts to pump. After two minutes, I’m nice and warm and I find my rhythm.
And I soar.
“Wave left,” Coach says in my ear as a power boat passes by, leaving a wake for me to deal with. It doesn’t bother me—I’m in my element. This is what I was made to do.
I was born to row.
By the eight-minute mark, my breath is ragged and my legs and arms are screaming with that sweet, sharp burn that I’ve grown addicted to. I must be close to the 2000-meter mark by now.
“Three hundred.”
I pull, and I forget about the lack of sleep and the harpies in the locker room. I forget about Dahlia and the fact that
