Ivy's Tangle (Legend of the White Sword - Book 1)

Chapter 3 - Knights in the Library

Rain trapped me inside for my first days at Glastonbury Manor, and I spent most of my time playing video games, watching movies on my laptop, and working on a model plane. I rarely saw Mr. Ryan or my grandmother, except at dinner, and only bumped into Ivy sporadically (which was more than enough for me). She was my age, and you'd think it would be nice having another kid around to hang out with. It wasn't. Ivy was a total jerk.

She was staying with Gran, but I didn't know why. Ivy wasn't a regular boarder like Mr. Ryan or a relative like me. As I understood it, her grandmother and my grandmother were old friends, and Gran was looking after her for the summer. Ivy was a snotty, stuck-up brat—I didn't know the details. The few times she'd spoken to me, Ivy had tried to order me around as if I was her personal butler.

The first time I saw her, I thought she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen, but that was before she opened her mouth. After less than a week of living in the same house with her, she didn't seem pretty at all.

***

We had a fight at dinner one night, and the next day found us out in Gran's huge vegetable garden, breaking up the dirt with shovels. Gran has a guy who takes care of the gardens and deals with the landscaping. The manual labour was a punishment. I still didn't know why I was being punished for not putting up with a spoiled brat. Ivy blamed me.

"This is your fault," Ivy said.

She stood on the shovel blade with both feet and bounced it into the dark earth. Ivy wore an over-sized pair of Gran's old rubber boots. After hours of gardening, she looked grubby. I assumed she wore them because she owned no footwear suitable for manual labour. Ivy always dressed as though she were going to a fancy tea party. If she had jeans or shorts (or a t-shirt) I'd seen no evidence of it over the previous week. Specs of dirt splattered Ivy's frilly white dress, and her long blond hair looked frazzled. She'd even smeared a fair amount of dirt down the side of her face.

It made her look a little cute.

"I shouldn't be working like a common labourer!"

And... the cute disappeared again. I'd spent my life in exclusive schools, surrounded by over-privileged kids, but this little princess took the cake.

"Why don't you talk less and dig more?" I asked. "I'm almost done my half. If you think I'll be helping with yours—you can think again."

Ivy had obviously never done a lick of hard work in her life. Truthfully, I hadn't either, but I was a sturdy guy, and she was downright tiny. I could tell from her expression that she expected me to move on to her side of the garden when I finished with mine.

Keep dreaming, Princess.

"You aren't?" she asked.

"No. When I finish, I'll get a nice cold drink, have a seat on that bench over there... and enjoy the show."

"I have no doubt you wish to continue staring at me—pervert! Do you think I haven't noticed?"

I felt blood rushing to my face. I hated that girl. Maybe I'd looked at her a little. She was really, really good looking, but I hadn't been staring.

"Your face is as much as an admission of your guilt," she said.

Who talks like that?

"Screw you," I said, quickly turning my last three shovelfuls of dirt. Then I carried my shovel to the shed, without looking back, determined not to give her the satisfaction. As I headed around the house, I heard her last quiet word.

"Pig."

***

It started raining right after I left Ivy in the garden. I'll give the princess credit, she kept digging until she finished her side. My room faced the backyard. I wasn't spying on her. Honestly. With her dress and hair soaked down, she looked like a drowned cat by the time she finished. At dinner, she avoided eye contact with me, which suited me fine.