Okay, so, it really wasn't that big of a deal that I didn't fit in. I mean, I'd made an effort and brushed my hair and done my makeup and all. But my blowout was frizzing, my foundation was melting, and my romper was stuck to my sweaty thighs. I plucked at it, only to be skewered by yet another glare from yet another pearl-clad mother whose makeup would never dare to run, even in the blistering, late August sun. Her well-groomed daughter was no different, frowning at me like I'd wandered into their private club without an invite.
I kinda had, though. Because this manicured courtyard surrounded by brown stone buildings and red-shingled roofs actually was a private club of sorts—a prep school. An expensive one. And while I didn't have a trust fund to cover my tuition, I did have an athletic scholarship. Which I'm pretty sure every single person crowding the freshly-mown courtyard had guessed from the second I'd stepped out of my Uber—the only red Civic in a sea of sleek, black sedans.
If that wasn't a damned good metaphor for me right now, I'd swallow my gum.
But I'd come here for a reason. So rather than bailing, I blew a bubble, popped it, and squared my shoulders. Bouncing the soccer ball that had earned me my full ride, I sauntered into Kingsbridge Preparatory Academy's marble entrance hall and did my best to pretend I wasn't absolutely about to vomit from nerves.
Ignoring the stares that followed me through the lobby, I tucked my ball against my hip and jogged up the antique, wooden staircase towards the door emblazoned with "Administration" in neat, gold lettering. I popped my gum again as I entered, and a harried, middle-aged administrator looked up from her screen. "Freshmen orientation is in the assembly hall."
"Not a freshman." I mock-saluted her. "A junior, actually. Here to get my uniforms."
She pursed her lips, then noisily typed something into her computer. "Eleanor Morris-Whittaker?"
I barked a laugh. "Am I seriously the only new junior?"
"Yes, dear, you are. We don't accept many transfer students."
Wonderful. As if the daunting prospect of a year in a starchy, preppy uniform wasn't enough already.
"You have to sign these." She flopped a stack of papers onto her desk, then handed me a Kleenex. "And get rid of the gum, please. The code of conduct applies from the moment you set foot on campus, and Headmistress Hawthorne is very strict when it comes to enforcement. I'll be right back."
She disappeared into a back office and I tried not to groan at the papers in front of me. So many rules and I'd barely even been there five minutes. With a sigh, I ditched my gum, stuffed my soccer ball into my backpack, and got to reading.
When I flipped to the page about the requirements to maintain my athletic scholarship, though, my focus sharpened. Usually by the fourth "wherefore," I was a glazed-over goner. Now, my entire future hinged on this scholarship, wherefores and all.
Even though my parents had agreed to my transfer to Kingsbridge, it wasn't the kind of school we could afford. My scholarship might've been the only saving grace of the sport my mother absolutely loathed. Her lips always pursed at my soccer legs—bruised and scraped and not at all ladylike. Legs that got looks when she dressed me in a skirt for her beloved Junior League. But she'd caved to the relentless pressure from me and my older brother, Jake, with the caveat that I could chase this dream as far as I could take it on my own. If I lost my scholarship and my parents had to shell out the entire, high-five-figure tuition, I'd be on the next train back to suburbia.
I signed the scholarship page, then flipped through the code of conduct. It was the standard fare—no entering the boys' dormitory, no parties, no alcohol, no drugs—but with a bunch of addendums about social media. Apparently I could be expelled for posting a single TikTok in my school uniform.
The receptionist reappeared, wheeling out a dolly with a big cardboard box. "Do you have any questions?" she asked as I scrawled my poor excuse of a signature on the code of conduct. I'd have to work on that, especially if I was about to join a class full of 17-year-olds who probably signed investment authorizations on the regular.
"Actually, yeah." I slid the code of conduct back at her. "What happened on TikTok to get that last clause added in?"
Her lips pursed and she blinked rapidly, as if morse-coding me to stand down. "First of all, we say 'yes' here, not yeah," she said stiffly, "And that is none of your business, Miss Morris-Whittaker." She slid another paper towards me. "You should also be aware that due to your grades, you have been assigned a history tutor to ensure that you meet our rigorous academic standards. The sessions are mandatory, and your tutor will report any absences." When I tried to take the paper, she held onto it until I met her gaze. "We take not only academics, but comportment very seriously here at Kingsbridge." She swept a look down to my too-short romper. "Keep that in mind, dear."
"Yeah. I mean, yes. Whatever." I winced as the last word slipped out, entirely out of habit. It was the word that infuriated my mom the most, so it had obviously become a staple in my vocabulary.
The receptionist just pursed her lips and dismissed me with a shake of her head, before answering her ringing phone with a bright, "Good morning, Kingsbridge Preparatory Academy, how may I assist you?"
Barely winning the battle against the urge to roll my eyes, I grabbed the papers, hefted the box, and then staggered as I tried to get a better grip on it. It wasn't exactly heavy, but it was huge. So huge that I could barely see over it as I maneuvered my way out of the office. Hoping that there was some alternate route to the dorms that didn't involve navigating the sea of glares again, I tried my luck up the stairs. I wrestled with the box, attempting to flip open my campus map, and narrowly avoided a potted fern. When I rounded the corner, though, I tripped on the hall runner and slammed into someone coming the other way.
He fell with an "oof", and I landed on top of him, with my box of uniforms between us.
"Ohmigod, I'm so..." I trailed off.
He was the most gorgeous human being I'd ever laid eyes on. All sandy blonde hair and vibrant green eyes with a tan that screamed summer on Cape Cod. He smelled nice too, like vetiver and cardamom, and I jerked back, mortified, when I realized I'd leaned in to sniff him.
"Oy, you all right, Will?" came an accented voice from above us.
"I'm ok, JJ," Will said, offering me a heart-stopping grin. "Just, ah, maybe you could help her up?"
JJ helped me to my feet with a tug that seemed entirely too effortless. Then again, the biceps peeking from his polo all but confirmed he was an athlete. His white teeth shone starkly against his dark skin as he asked me, "You all right, too, love?"
"Yeah," I managed, then cleared my throat when it came out as a bleat.
Will climbed to his feet and straightened his blue button-down, the sleeves rolled up to show off his tanned forearms. I swallowed and tore my gaze away when his hands dropped to brush off his jeans.
"I'm James, but everyone calls me JJ." He thrust his hand at me, glancing down at the mess of my papers that had fluttered all over the hallway, "And from the looks of it, you're new."
"Yeah," I said again, then added when Will leaned down to pick up the scattered papers, "You don't have to do that, I've got it."
But he'd already gathered them and straightened. "I'm William," he said, extending the papers to me. His gaze held mine and my fingers almost missed the papers.
"Eleanor—uh, well—Ellie, actually." I tried not to die of mortification that I'd introduced myself by my full, formal name. The super old-fashioned one my mother only used when she was mad at me. "Yeah, uh...just call me Ellie."
A blush burst onto my cheeks and I swung my backpack around to duck my face and bury the papers into it. Since when was I such a blubbering fool?
"Pleasure to meet you," JJ said, his lips quirking as his gaze slid between me and William.
"Ellie it is," William said gallantly, then bent down and hefted up my uniform box. "Did they show you where the girls' dorm is yet?"
JJ checked his watch. "Council in 10, Will. Didn't you want to get there early?"
"Oh, you don't have to—" I tried to take the box back, but William shook his head.
"And let you bowl someone else over with this thing?" His eyes danced. "I think not, Ellie."
I kinda hated how good my name sounded on his lips. Like I'd never get tired of hearing it.
"Right." JJ drew the word out, then shoved his hands into his pockets. "Well, don't be late."
"Ignore him. He takes his role as student council secretary far too seriously." William turned on his heel, my box of uniforms still clutched in his arms. "Come on, I'll show you a shortcut to the dorms."
**A/N: Next chapter coming TOMORROW!!
What do you think so far? Are we shipping anyone yet??
As always, if you enjoyed it, please take a moment to vote and comment! :)
Also, for those of you asking, no I haven't given up on The Rebel Prince! I had to scrap the ending because it was not as good as I had hoped it would be, which means I have to rewrite the entire last quarter of the story. I'm currently rereading TRP to see what I can do to write something better for you all. The good news is that this story, Faking It, is fully finished, edited, and polished, so you can expect very regular updates for this one while I work on TRP!**