Page 2 of Outcast

After a few minutes, Marissa gasped. “Oh… This is just like Downton Abbey!”

Ahead stood a three-story, stone-fronted building whose huge windows reflected the sunlight, making it all the more majestic. At each corner was a six-story tower, and at the roof a glass dome that was probably an atrium. My breath caught. This was nothing like I’d feared.

The limo stopped outside the building’s mahogany double doors, and the driver stepped out and opened the limo’s back door. “Mercia Academy,” he said in the kind of smooth accent I’d only heard from TV butlers. “I will await your return outside, Miss Marissa.”

Marissa stretched out her hand, indicating for him to help her step out. Clearly, the personal assistant of a personal assistant didn’t get to ride in vehicles like this, and she wanted to milk the Cinderella experience. She placed her fingertips on the driver’s palm, pointed the toe of her red stiletto and stepped out. I didn’t blame her for acting like she’d won a fancy vacation to England. If I were returning to New York in a few days, I’d be delighted with the experience, too.

I stepped out and walked up the stone stairs and through ten-foot-tall double doors into a vast hallway that smelled of furniture polish. Kids of different ages, ranging from little eleven-year olds to those around seventeen, like me, rushed out of classrooms, each wearing burgundy blazers with the school crest, gray slacks for the boys and pleated skirts for the girls.

“Good morning?” Marissa waved her hand, jangling two rows of over-crowded charm bracelets. “Excuse me!”

None of the kids took any notice. Instead, they disappeared through doors, down hallways, and into stairwells. It was like a colony of oversized, burgundy ants. What was the rush?

“Excuse me!” Marissa strode toward a wide part of the hallway, where two corridors intersected. “Which way to the headmaster’s office?”

A squat boy with pale, red hair bumped her to one side with his shoulder. “Bloody Yank. Too fucking loud.”

My insides ached with dread. Is that what people would call me? Some of the kids gave Marissa filthy looks and eyed me up and down with curled lips, as though I was guilty of being a loud Yank by association. Which I was. Dread wrapped itself around my chest and squeezed like a vice. Was this the kind of treatment in store for me?

The last of the students disappeared into the classrooms, leaving the hallway a deserted oasis of marble and gilded, centuries-old portraits on white walls. I caught up with Marissa and placed an arm on her shoulder. “Let’s walk around a little. I’m sure there’ll be signs to the headmaster’s office.”

“I can’t believe the rudeness of that kid!” Her voice echoed in the hallway along with the click-clack of her heels.

“Yeah,” I whispered, hoping she would take the hint and also lower her voice. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I thought British people were polite!”

A door opened, and an old man with the kind of black, academic robes people wore during graduation, or at Hogwarts, stuck out his head and scowled. “Will you keep the noise down? Some of us are trying to teach.”

Marissa’s nostrils flared. “If someone would tell me where to find the headmaster, maybe I wouldn’t need to talk so loud!”

“First floor.” His head disappeared back into the room, and he shut the door with a click.

She shook her head. “What a snob!”

Wrapping my arms around my middle, I let out a shuddering breath. The people did have a point about her volume, but they didn’t have to be so mean and condescending about it. I nodded at a stairwell and whispered, “Let’s try over here.”

Marissa stomped up the stone stairs, ranting about how the English were just rude, condescending snobs, and nothing like the genteel folk on TV. With each screeching word, her voice echoed in the stairwell. I trailed behind her and cringed. All the people in the classrooms could probably hear her, too.

“Marissa,” I whispered.

She was too lost in her tirade to hear my whisper. I followed her onto the landing, where the staircase twisted forty-five degrees. At the top stood three of the most handsome boys I’d ever seen, making my heart splutter.

Each stood over six-feet tall with athletic builds and wore their school uniforms like tuxedos. I had to blink in case it was a hallucination. The trio had the grace and elegance of young kings.

When I opened my eyes, they were still there, still real, still handsome. My heart stopped, and my jaw unhinged.

The boy on the left bored into me with mischievous, chocolate-brown eyes that turned my insides to jelly. Glossy black hair curled around his ears. He looked like someone who’d stepped off a runway with his high cheekbones, strong jaw, and broad shoulders that tapered into a narrow waist and lean, muscular thighs. My gaze locked onto his full, kissable lips. I licked my own, imagining their touch against my skin.

He glanced at Marissa then gave me a sympathetic half-smile, which made my insides relax. Boys this good-looking were usually arrogant, but this one seemed a little friendly.

The second guy was a few inches taller, with a broad, football player’s body I wanted to scale like King Kong on the Empire State building. His biceps and prominent pectoral muscles bulged tantalizingly under his uniform. He kept his blond, wavy hair slicked back off a face that could have been chiseled by a master sculptor. His cool, green eyes roved up and down my body as though assessing whether I was worth his time. My breath hitched, but the lack of reaction on his stony face told me I probably wasn’t.

Ignoring my sinking heart, I turned my gaze to the third, a brunet built like he ran track and field. He didn’t have the bulk of the blond or the willowy grace of the black-haired boy, but the way his blazer hung and curved and hugged his body promised lean, hard muscles that would melt a girl’s panties. My gaze flickered to his face. He might have been the most handsome of the trio, with his startling sapphire eyes, straight nose, and strong jawline, if it wasn’t for the scowl distorting his features.

Hatred burned in his eyes, and his lips curled into a snarl. It was enough to make my stomach twist into knots, and I glanced away, unable to withstand the weight of his stare.

“I must have a word with the headmaster about security,” he said. They’re letting in any old obnoxious tourist.”