“Mysteria.” I took a long time making up that name. I wanted something close to Myla that didn’t sound girly. I am so not happy with the Missy thing that Prescott’s working here. “Everyone calls me Mysteria. Pronounced Miss-TEER-ee-ah.” That ought to make things clear.
“You look like a Missy to me.” Prescott grins, and there’s something predatory in his smile. Every instinct I have is telling me to pile drive this asshole into the dock. I hold off, though. I need to get that codex to court by tomorrow.
I slap on what I hope is an innocent face. “Hey, all I want to do is fit in.”
“You’ll do well here, then.”
“Yup.” I try to keep working my innocent vibe. It’s not an easy task with all the ruckus from my tail. Sure, humans like Prescott can’t see it. That doesn’t mean it isn’t screwing around with my center of gravity, though.
Thanks for nothing, boy.
This is the situation. Sometimes, my tail takes an instant shine to a person, like it did with Lincoln. In other cases, my backside hates someone so badly it makes a big scene and acts like a total baby right off the bat.
Like now.
My tail hooks its arrowhead-shaped end into the dock and burrows in. Clearly, it doesn’t want to go anywhere with Prescott. I twist my hips and try to break free, but I only end up making myself look like I’m twerking.
“Are you quite all right, Missy?” asks Prescott.
Way to make a great first impression, Myla.
“I’m fine.” I shake his hand. Since my tail has me anchored in place, I have to lean way forward to meet his grip. “I’m really excited to start school here. Thanks so much for making a place for me. I know summer camp started weeks ago.”
“You’re quite welcome.” Prescott eyes me warily. And even if Prescott were really an angel or demon, he wouldn’t see anything because I’m wearing the amulet from Lucas. Still, it must look like I’m standing at an angle that defies gravity. Not good.
Dad steps around back of me and casually pulls my tail free from the dock. I exhale a relieved breath.
Thank you, Dad.
My father strides over to Prescott and shakes the headmaster’s hand. “Well, I have to run for a meeting at the clubhouse.” He wraps me in a big hug. “Have fun, darling.” I don’t know where the “darling” comes from, but it sounds totally authentic. Dad really is a cool liar.
“I’ll have loads of fun, Daddums.” There, that sounded preppy and convincing. I hope. Prescott stops scowling at me, so I take that as a good sign.
Dad kisses my cheek, says his goodbyes to Prescott, and walks away. Once Dad is safely inside the Bugatti, Prescott rubs his hands together. I notice he has a manicure. Lincoln’s hands are all calloused from holding a sword all day long. Manicured man-hands give me the creeps. Reason number two to dislike Prescott. “Well, Missy? Shall we go?”
Aaaaaaand thanks for reminding me that calling me Missy was reason number one to hate your preppy ass.
“Sure thing, Headmaster.” I hoist my backpack onto my shoulder.
“Is that all you’re bringing?” Prescott gestures to my pack.
“Yes, my parents are sending up a trunk with my other stuff in a few days.” I shrug my backpack higher on my shoulder. “This is fine for now.” I’m not planning to stay here past a few days, either. Not that I’ll volunteer that fact.
“Don’t you have more girl-things you need? Makeup? Formal dresses?” k'1`2
Nunchuks?
“Ah, no. I’m more of a sporty type.” He doesn’t seem convinced, so I quickly add on more detail. “Also, I do my own laundry.” This is totally true, by the way. For whatever reason, that seems to convince him.
“In that case, let’s be off.” Prescott gestures to the Fish Stick Guy. The man has been so quiet I’d forgotten he was here. “Jeeves, if you don’t mind?”
My lips purse. Jeeves? Really? I am so sticking with Fish Stick Grandpa as his name. FSG for short because, what else should I do with my time other than make up nicknames? Pay actual attention to my new headmaster?
After Prescott asks the same thing two more times, FSG finally ambles into the boat and grabs the oars. I’m pretty sure that he heard Prescott fine and is just being an ass, which is totally cool with me. Prescott looks young and fit. It takes balls to ask some wrinkly old dude to row your fat ass around when you’re totally capable of doing it yourself, even if you are wearing a cravat.
Once FSG settles into the rowboat, it’s my turn to climb aboard. It isn’t easy getting in, especially since I have to hold my struggling tail with one hand while keeping my balance with the other. Combine that with the water, and I’m wobbling all over the place. What fancy-ass preppy school uses an old rowboat anyway? It seems like they’d tool back and forth in one of those sporty James Bond wooden powerboat thingies. Something to ponder for later.
Prescott takes my free hand and helps me settle in, which is cool. Perhaps I misjudged him for wearing a cravat and everything. Then, my scummy headmaster somehow manages to brush my boobs a few times as I sit down, which is way uncool.