Royal Academy

by McKenna James

  “I-I’ll remake your drinks. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.”

  I hurried back behind the counter, fighting back tears. I quickly made their coffees and added extra pastries to the tray before I brought the order to their table—without any obstructions along the way.

  I placed a coffee in front of each man and the pastries between the two. “I apologize again for the inconvenience. If there’s anything I can get for you, please let me know.”

  I turned quickly to go to the back to get the mop and bucket, when I heard one of the guys yell, “You’d do yourself well to run back home to Luton. London doesn’t need filth like you here.”

  “Excuse me?” I questioned, ire in my voice.

  “You heard me, pauper. How did you manage to get into Whitby? Filth like you can’t afford tuition, and you certainly don’t have the social standing to get in on clout alone.” He raised his brow in question, and just as I was about to rebut, he cut me off with, “Or does dear old dad have a juicy story on the headmaster? Is that it?”

  No… this couldn’t be happening.

  “Clayton, Riley, is there a problem?” Ariand asked, rounding the counter.

  So I had names to go with the faces. “Ariand, dear, your wretched little pauper here has made a mess of our breakfast. Completely embarrassing for her.” He shook his head in disgust, but there was a condescending laughter in his tone.

  “I’m sorry, Clayton. She’s new, but she’s a great worker. She replaced your order, yes?”

  He nodded, his eyes trailing from Ariand’s lips to the tips of her toes. “She did.”

  “Good, all’s well then. I hope you enjoy.” Ariand placed her hand on my arm and guided me to the back. Shit! I’d likely get written up or worse—fired.

  “Are you okay, Eliza?” Ariand asked, reaching me a cup of water.

  “Yes, just shaken up.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know really. I was taking their order out like you had asked, when I tripped suddenly. Then both of those guys started calling me names and yelling at me.”

  Ariand nodded, understanding. “You don’t know them?”

  I looked at her in disbelief. “No, should I?”

  “Well, you attend Whitby, so I assumed you’d likely seen them around university.”

  “It’s likely, but I don’t mingle much.”

  Ariand’s face fell from concerned to sad. “I understand. It’s a different world there.” She leaned in close and muttered, “Be careful, Eliza. Clayton and Riley are royal assholes, and once they set their sights on you, a target will be on your back.”

  “A target? What do you mean?” I didn’t understand what Ariand was getting at.

  She sighed. “You’re an outsider. That’s how these guys see you. You’re working class barista, and your worlds should never collide. But they have. These guys don’t like that.”

  Oh. It was becoming clear now.

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Ariand. It really was a simple accident.”

  “I understand, and one of them likely even tripped you just to bully you. They have clout and can turn the tables to look as if you were at fault. I would hate to see you lose your job because of those jackasses.”

  Wow. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and I didn’t even know these guys.

  “I’ll mop the floors. You go ahead and do the dishes. Stay in the back until they’ve left the café,” Ariand directed as she grabbed the mop and bucket.

  “Thanks for looking out for me, Ariand. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

  “Don’t mention it, Eliza.”

  ***

  My stomach was tied in knots as I walked through the huge doors of Ashby Hall knowing that I would see Drew again a few minutes later. I hadn’t talked to him since he’d left my house yesterday morning. I wondered if he was feeling the same way as well. What should I do, though? Should I sit next to him or go to my usual seat two rows down? Should I allow him to come to me and speak first or would it be appropriate to go up to him and talk? Oh God, I hadn't considered all of those questions. I didn't want to come on too strong and seem like a girl who was needy. But I didn't want to ignore him either because we had become friends ... well, more than friends, but no one knew about that except us. Hell, even I wasn’t sure how to label us. In limbo?

  My hands started to tremble as I reached for the knob on the door that led into our classroom. My heart was pounding hard inside my chest, and I was beginning to dread the event I had just been happily anticipating.

  Calm down! Just go in and take your seat, listen to the lecture, then present your paper along with Drew when your name is called.

  I felt as if I was talking myself off the ledge, but it worked. I walked in, glanced around to see that Drew was not there yet, and I took my seat. I was sort of relieved that I was the first to arrive. It took the pressure off of me as to what to do, where to sit, and how to behave around him. Now the ball was in his court. I would let him take the lead, no matter what he did or didn't do.

  I was beginning to calm down when I glanced over and saw him come in the door. Seeing his gorgeous eyes and sandy hair caused my heart to feel as if it did a flip-flop in my chest. He looked over at me, and I smiled slightly. He returned the gesture, nodded, and took his regular chair two rows back—right beside of Poppy Abingdon. I was a little disappointed that he didn't sit with me, but I decided to let it go. I was sure that he had a good reason, and I was still on cloud nine after reading his note to me.

  ***

  I swear I didn't think that Haddish was ever going to stop talking and allow us to present our topic papers. He seemed to drone on and on endlessly about some boring junk that I had no interest in whatsoever. I remembered being so upset when I found out that the class was one of my requirements for my degree because I wasn't into Anthropology. But once I met Andrew, I was glad that fate had brought me to Ashby Hall, room 229.

  “Okay, class,” Haddish said in his usual stuffy tone. “I'll call out the first two names. You will proceed down here, stand beside of my desk and read your paper aloud to the other students. I want both partners to read from the paper. However you choose to do it is entirely up to you, but please have that worked out before you get down here; I haven't got all day to waste until you figure it out.”

  It was show time, as they said, and I couldn't wait until everyone got started so that I could move back to Drew's row to discuss how we would do ours. My palms felt clammy, and my mouth was suddenly dry. But why? I had just been with him last night alone at my flat, and it wasn't this bad. Why was I starting to sweat just now, here at school? Maybe because we had to get up in front of the class and speak. Maybe because I wasn't really sure how it was all going to pan out.

  “Sanderson and Althorp,” I heard the stuffy professor say loudly. It was so loud that it seemed to ring out through the entire room giving off a slight echo. He must have realized it because he grimaced slightly afterward. As soon as the students were down front, I tiptoed up to Drew.

  “Hey,” I whispered as I sat next to him.

  “Hey, you,” he said in return.

  “I was a bit disappointed that you were gone when I got up this morning,” I said in as low a tone as possible so that no one would hear.

  He grinned. “Did you get my note?”

  I smiled inside and out. “I did.”

  He looked at me then quickly turned his attention from me down to some guy who was staring up at us.

  “What's wrong?” I asked, concerned.

  “Nothing. I just can't really talk about all of this here in class. Can we meet later at your flat and discuss things?” he asked as if he needed permission to come over and see me.

  “Sure,” I answered. “Is something wrong?” I added.

  “Not at all. I just need to discuss things about my life and how things work for me,” he said reassuringly. “For now, here in everyone's eyes and minds, we are just project partners.”

&n
bsp; I felt a tad stung by his comment. Drew was being ever elusive and short, when last night he seemed to be an open book. Had I read his note wrong? Why was I suddenly feeling like he was rejecting me? Oh well, I would find out soon enough.

  “Sure,” I agreed.

  I knew that he cared for me, so I tried my best to let it go and concentrate on the other students who were speaking.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot,” I said as I leaned over to him. “How are we going to divide up our topic paper? What part do you want to read?”

  He took the paper from my hand and scanned it. “I'll read this here, since those were my points and you can read from here down,” he said as he handed it back.

  “That sounds great,” I said with a smile.

  I saw him look down and noticed the guy below was still staring at us, and I knew that something was wrong. Oh shit. That was Clayton, from the café yesterday. I couldn't let it go until later. I had to know right then what was going on.

  “Why is that guy looking at us? Is he upset about something?”

  “No, I don't think so. Who knows why he's looking at us. He's always been a little odd.”

  He smiled at me and took the paper back. I knew that he was only doing that to make it look as if we were discussing the project. What was Drew hiding?

  “Noble and Harrington,” Haddish announced. “You're on.”

  Drew and I walked down front and turned to face the large classroom that was still almost half full of students. He began to read aloud the ideas that he'd come up with. “Social media and its impact on cultures outside of England is a most fascinating subject,” he said.

  He seemed to be a regular teenager at times, but in the classroom he clearly knew what he was talking about, and school was not just a pastime. He was there to truly learn and get an education. He wanted a career where he could make a difference in the lives of others, and that was something to be admired. I too wanted to be someone who made a difference in this world. I knew that together Andrew and I could do anything we set our minds to, and this project was only going to be the beginning for us.

  I took the paper from him after he was finished, and I began to read my part. I could hear my voice echo throughout the room, and it had a nervous quiver in it. I wasn't accustomed to being in front of that many people at once and having to speak on a subject I knew very little about. I could tell that Drew was used to giving speeches by his demeanor. He'd probably been doing it for most of his life. He was comfortable in the spotlight; I, on the other hand, was not. I managed to get through it, and I welcomed the applause from our classmates when we were done.

  We both smiled then and headed up the steps to our seats.

  “Miss Noble, Mr. Harrington, you may leave if you'd like, but you are welcome to stay and listen to your classmates,” Haddish said, sounding as if he had something stuck in his throat.

  He was the stuffiest of the stuffy. He was upper crust, and he knew it. He was an elitist who wasn't impressed at all by Andrew or his family; or at least that was how he had come across to me. Maybe he was only acting that way so as to make Drew feel more at ease in the class. Maybe Professor Haddish was just as enamored as the rest of the world with young Andrew and his future heir to the throne as King. It would certainly be a feather in Haddish's cap to say that he once taught Andrew, King of England, during his time at Whitby University. Now Haddish was making more sense to me. I would be sure to watch him closely in class the next time we met to see if I could spot any traces of him being in awe of Drew.

  Chapter 9

  Drew

  “God, I'm glad that's over,” I said to Eliza once we were outside of the classroom.

  “Me too,” she said as she waved her hand in front of her face, perspiration beading her upper lip.

  “You were wonderful, by the way,” I told her.

  She smiled. “Thank you, but I was so nervous that my voice cracked once or twice. But look at you, Mr. Big Stuff,” she said as she swatted me on the bicep. “You didn't even appear nervous at all.”

  I remained stoic although I loved feeling her touch me again, even if it was just a quick swat. “Well, I do this quite often.”

  “Yes, I've seen you a time or two on the telly.”

  Her smile melted my heart as she spoke of hearing me give speeches the few times I had done it publicly. Her words made me feel quite proud of myself.

  “So why was that guy staring at us, really?” She pressed me for an answer again.

  I knew what Clayton’s problem was, but I couldn't very well tell her. How could I say to her that my best friend didn't feel as if she was good enough for me because she grew up poor and was from the wrong side of town? None of that was her fault.

  “I really have no idea. I'll have to ask him and find out,” I said, hoping she would drop the subject.

  She accepted my response and changed the conversation to that of us getting together again.

  “What time do you think you'll be over tonight?”

  “Same time as last night?” I asked her.

  “Sounds great. Is there anything special I can get for you to drink? I hate to give you another beer since it made you sick.”

  “No, just whatever you have is fine,” I said.

  “Okay. Well, I guess I'll see you later.”

  “Alright, I'll be there,” I replied with a smile.

  I watched her walk away, and all I could think of was her ass in those yoga pants the night before. I knew if she put those things on again, I was going to have to steal away to her bathroom and jack off just to relieve some of the pressure. There was no way I could be in her flat all night and not frig her. Maybe I would give myself a good hand job before I got there, so that the general wouldn't want to do battle with me again.

  “What the hell, man?” he said, giving me a start that caused me to almost shit my pants.

  “Bloody hell!” I screamed. “What do you mean, scaring me like that?”

  “I’m just curious what the Queen would think to hear you’re slumming it, chap.” He went straight for the jugular.

  “Have you gone bloody mad? If I expect to be treated like a commoner, I have to associate amongst them. You act as if I’ve considered asking for her hand in marriage.”

  I tried my best to throw him off our scent, but he wasn't going to let up. He was a dog on the hunt for his prey.

  “Drew, you can't fool me,” he said as he popped a couple of cashews in his mouth. As long as I could remember, Clayton always had cashews with him.

  “I'm not trying to fool anyone, Clay,” I said, anger evident in my tone.

  “Listen, man, all I'm saying is that you seem to be infatuated with that girl. She doesn’t belong amongst our kind. She's not your type. So hit that ass if you want to, but for God's sake, don't fucking fall in love with her.”

  I detested Clayton's mindset and snobbery. It was something that my mother had always taught against. She had tried her best to make us aware of the less fortunate in the world and that they were not to be looked down on nor judged. She said that man was dealt a hand in life, and it was up to him to make the best of that hand. Some win and some lose, but those who lost were every bit as good as those who won. She stressed that they were the ones to whom we should show the most kindness.

  Clayton had been taught the same thing until Antonia, that Rich-Bitch fucked it up for him when she used her power of influence to mess up his mind and his beliefs.

  “Clayton, do you even hear what you're saying?” I asked him angrily.

  I could tell he knew I was mad because he shrank back a tad.

  “You know that your father and mother did not raise you to look down on others. You were raised the same exact way I was, so why all of a sudden have you converted to being the snobby bastard you have become?”

  His eyes widened, and he took a step back.

  “Drew, come on!! You have a reputation to uphold. A civic duty to your people, yet you find it acceptable to shit upon your namesake f
or the likes of common trash like Eliza fucking Noble? The noble thing for you to do is cut your losses now and try to recover what little dignity you have left.”

  He started to walk away but then turned to me once again. “Listen, it’s gonna be a bloody long semester with the two of you paired to work on the project. Fuck her hard and fast then get the hell away from her. She's not good enough for the King of England.”

  “I'm not the bloody King!!” I yelled in his direction as he headed down the hall.

  It felt as if my blood was boiling. I could feel my whole body shaking from anger. I wanted to hit him, hard. I wanted to shake some sense into his thick head. And I wanted to tell him that his girlfriend was a bitch who was turning him into one as well. I didn't. Instead, I went home, back to my condo. I missed all of the rest of my classes that day, but I didn't care. I needed to cool off. If I’d stayed at school, I’d see Clayton later in history class that afternoon, and I probably would have knocked the shit out of him.

  ***

  I could feel the tension being released as I bench-pressed the heavy weight. I loved lifting; it gave me an outlet where I could put all of the shit life handed me. Not that my life was really bad or anything. But let's face it, everyone had shit they dealt with.

  “Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty,” I said as I moved the bar up and down before allowing it to rest on the cradle. I sat up and wiped the sweat from my face with the towel on the floor next to the free weights.

  Having a home gym was very convenient, especially for someone like me who couldn't always go out in public. It meant no paparazzi would be able to catch me in a moment of sweaty ugliness and post it universally. It meant that no one could write, “Prince Andrew barely able to bench press at all.” God, I hated those lying arseholes. Anyone who worked for the tabloids was trash, in my opinion.