London Prep Read online

  Table Of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  About

  Friday, September 20th

  Saturday, September 21st

  Sunday, September 22nd

  Monday, September 23rd

  Tuesday, September 24th

  Wednesday, September 25th

  Thursday, September 26th

  Friday, September 27th

  Saturday, September 28th

  Sunday, September 29th

  LONDON PREP

  ————————————————————-

  JILLIAN DODD

  Copyright © 2020 by Jillian Dodd

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Jillian Dodd Inc.

  Madeira Beach, FL

  Jillian Dodd, The Keatyn Chronicles, and Spy Girl are Registered Trademarks of Jillian Dodd Inc.

  ISBN: 978-1-946793-70-6

  London Prep—where the boys are as cute as their accents.

  “Hi. I’m Mohammad. I know everything about this school. And for your information, Harry and Noah happen to be my best mates. That’s why I took it upon myself to sit next to you and introduce myself. I saw the way Harry was wrapped around you and the way Noah looked like he wanted to murder you. You’ve already gotten my boys twisted up, plus half the girls in History, so I had to see what the fuss was all about. You’re the new girl and bound to cause drama, so I figured it’s my civic duty to help guide you through the hostile and hormonal battlefield that is Kensington School.”

  This is how Mohammad introduced himself to me on the first day of my three-week student exchange in London.

  And if you couldn’t already tell, I think Harry is adorable. His blue eyes and charming wit instantly won me over. Right after his lips did.

  Noah, on the other hand, is tall, dark, intense and spends way too much time in the shower. I know this because I have to live with him.

  My name is Mallory James and my life just got a whole lot more complicated.

  Friday, September 20th

  Don’t deserve to be sent away.

  11am

  “Book me a car to the airport because I don’t want to ride with either of you.” As the words leave my lips, I watch my parents’ eyes turn into saucers.

  Good. They deserved that.

  What else did they expect? That they could just ship me off to London for three weeks and I wouldn’t be mad?

  Wrong. I am pissed, and I intend to make sure they know it.

  I don’t bother stomping to my room. I’ve moved beyond throwing a fit.

  Of course, my dad follows me.

  “You know, this is meant to be a new and exciting experience for you,” he says, moving into my room shortly after me.

  I grab one of my duffels, shoving in a stack of perfectly folded sweaters. “No, Dad, this is the ultimate betrayal.”

  “Mmhmm.” My dad lets out a deep sigh, his eyes softening, and for the first time, it seems like he’s finally considering my feelings. But his calm demeanor isn’t going to change my attitude. “Most kids would die for an opportunity like this, Mallory. Going to a different city, experiencing a different culture. Getting away from their parents,” he urges.

  Touché, Dad. Touché.

  “But I’m not most kids. I like my life. I like living in New York. Besides, I’ve been to London. I saw the sites. Drank the tea. And I’m good, honestly,” I say a little nicer. “I appreciate the gesture, but I would rather stay here.”

  “Listen,” he replies, shifting from my doorway and taking a seat at the foot of my bed. “Your mother and I have agreed. We think, with time, you’ll see this as a good thing. And it’s only three weeks. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  My dad gives me a halfhearted smile, tilting his head a little to the side like a puppy, and for a moment, I want to believe him. But the thing is, he didn’t ask for my input. He and my mom made this decision without me. Without asking if it was what I wanted. Without seeing it from my point of view. I’m feeling very frustrated about the whole situation.

  “Dad, you’re supposed to be the parent, telling me all the worst things that could happen. Where is Mom when I need her? I’m sure she would be able to list all the terrible things that could happen to me abroad. Mom!” I start to shout, but my dad’s laughter catches my attention.

  “You will be fine, Mal. You’re strong and independent. A little mouthy, but sass isn’t always a bad thing.”

  “I understand that I sound like a brat. But come on, Dad. I love New York. I’m an overall good child, aren’t I? I don’t deserve to be sent away.” I pout.

  Because this situation is serious.

  I’m supposed to leave tomorrow!

  “Honey,” my dad says, patting my hand, “you’re not being sent away like a bad kid. I know how much you love it here, but just try to give London a chance. If I didn’t think that you could handle it, I wouldn’t push you to go.” His bluish-gray eyes settle on my own, and it’s almost like I’m looking at myself because my dad and I are so similar.

  “We’ve been to London before, so it’s not going to be this amazing, new experience. And truthfully, I prefer Shanghai.”

  My dad takes his hand back, but then a smile comes to his face, causing his eyes to crease in the corners. “May I ask why?”

  “London is boring,” I say, nodding my head at him.

  “Really?” he replies, taken aback. “That’s interesting you think so. See, most people would say London is rather vibrant.”

  My dad’s eyes glisten at me, and I know he’s taunting me.

  I give him an eye roll in reply.

  “Fine,” I say, throwing my hands into the air. “You and Mom win. I will go to London, seeing as I do not have a choice and am being forced to. But it doesn’t change how I feel. I’m still very upset with you both, and I don’t see myself getting over it anytime soon.”

  A smile spreads across my dad’s face. “I appreciate your honesty, sweetie. Just promise me to give it a real, wholehearted shot when you’re there.”

  “I don’t do anything halfway, do I?”

  “No, you don’t,” my dad says with a chuckle. He leans toward me, placing a kiss on my cheek as he rises from the bed.

  Despite what he and my mother believe, I think doing a three-week student exchange in London is a terrible idea.

  But there’s something even worse I have to do right now. I have to call my best friend, Anna, and tell her. I’ve known for a couple of weeks that this was going to happen, but I really thought that I could get my parents to change their minds. Usually, I’m able to convince them and get my way.

  But apparently, not this time.

  “Hey,” I say when Anna answers her phone. “I have bad news.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  I imagine her sitting on her bed in her newly redecorated room, staring out her window at Central Park.

  I don’t say anything for a moment, not sure how to tell her.

  “I’m leaving school,” I start, but I don’t get out anything else because she interrupts me.

  “Mallory! What are you talking about? Why w
ould you do that? We have so many plans for this year! Are you moving?” Her words spill out, and my stomach twists when I hear them.

  “No. My parents decided that it would be an enriching experience to send me to London through the school’s exchange program,” I say, already feeling upset again.

  “When do you leave?”

  “Tomorrow,” I say softly.

  “And you are just now telling me?” she replies, obviously hurt. “But you can’t. I mean, you’ll miss everything important. We are going to that art gallery opening on Tuesday. We have reservations booked for Nori next week, and goodness knows how long it will take to get another reservation if you can’t come.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I tell her.

  “Ohmigawd, Mallory! You’re going to miss Matthew Miller’s party. His parents will be in Aruba, remember? You’re supposed to flirt with him and make him fall in love with you because he’s Anthony’s best friend. That way we would be best friends who date best friends. And how are we supposed to do that if you’re gone?” she asks, sounding distressed.

  Because Anna’s like that. She makes all these plans in her head.

  She continues her rant, and I realize that she’s right. Life will go on here without me. That’s what my parents just don’t get.

  I shove a book into my duffel before dropping it onto the floor and falling dramatically onto my bed.

  I notice Anna has stopped speaking.

  “It’s only three weeks,” I say for lack of a better reply.

  She lets out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. I should be happy for you. I mean, London. London is awesome, right? A new school. New friends to make. And more importantly, boys with sexy accents.”

  “I doubt I will meet anyone fun. The British are kind of stuffy, aren’t they?”

  “Maybe. Did they give you an itinerary? Have you already decided what to take? You’ve got to pack cute London clothes. And shoes. Lots of shoes. And probably wellies. Doesn’t it rain there all the time? Are you sure you don’t need me to come over and help you with your wardrobe?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got it covered.”

  “You know, I think it would be great to go to a different school for a few weeks, where no one knows you. I mean, it’s not like you’ll ever see them again, which might be fun.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

  She always talks out her problems, thinking on the fly. Unlike me, who plans out everything in my life.

  I sigh loudly.

  “Mallory, seriously, you should try to have fun.”

  “Now, you sound like my dad. I’ve gotta go pack. I’ll text you—probably every day because I’ll be bored to death.”

  We end the call, and I consider what both she and my dad said.

  It is only three weeks, and who cares what anyone at this stupid London school thinks of me? It’s not like I’ll ever see them again.

  That thought builds in my mind. I’ll never see them again.

  I smile to myself. Screw it. Maybe I will have some fun. Go to London and blow off a little steam. And then I’ll come back, having appeased my parents, and move on with my life.

  I pick up the pamphlet that my father left on my dresser. Kensington School. Staring back at me is a group of overly joyful teens, all in matching uniforms.

  Fakers.

  They’re sitting around, looking at one another as though they have never wanted to be anywhere else. Just the sight of it makes me roll my eyes. And what’s worse is, apparently, that’s supposed to be me in a few days.

  I let out another sigh before pulling myself up off my bed and grabbing another empty suitcase to fill.

  Saturday, September 21st

  I’m going to London.

  New York—JFK Airport

  “Miss James,” our driver, Larry, says with a nod as he takes my hand and helps me out of the black BMW that is pulled to the curb in front of the airport.

  I give him a smile. Larry has been our family’s driver since … well, forever. He probably knows my parents as well as I do. Between driving my father to and from work and my mom’s distaste for taxis and her need to attend varying luncheons, he’s with us daily.

  “Thank you,” I say as he gets out the last of my suitcases—three in total with a nice-sized duffel to top it off.

  It might seem excessive for three weeks, but I hate not being prepared. The fact that I was not given any kind of an itinerary did not help. Which means I had to strategically pack for any possible outing—from cute, casual day outfits to options for going out.

  And there’s nothing worse than having the most beautiful clothes and wearing them with the same shoes and bag. Each outfit is distinct and needs its own accessories, or it throws off the whole effect, and that’s not good.

  Fifteen pairs of shoes later, I think I’ve done pretty well with the little amount of information I have on what exactly I’ll be doing besides sitting in a stuffy, old building in an outdated uniform. I wipe the thought from my mind, bringing my attention back to Larry. I give him a wave as he leaves me at curbside check-in, and I hand my passport to the employee behind the desk. She looks at me, a smile coming to her face.

  “I see you’re traveling to London today, Miss James,” she says, obviously wanting me to be as excited by the idea as she is.

  I want to reply, Unfortunately, but her smile is genuine, and I don’t really feel like being responsible for removing the sparkle in her eye. So, I give her my best I’m not faking this fake smile and nod with enthusiasm.

  “I’m going to London,” I repeat, letting the words settle in.

  I’ve been trying to avoid the thought as much as possible, but now, here I am, faced with it yet again for the second time today. The first time was when my mom hugged me this morning and then proceeded to cry, making me feel extremely uncomfortable. She blubbered something about missing me and being proud, but I just moved on to my dad, giving him a hug. And luckily for us, he was able to hold back his tears.

  At least one of my parents can handle their emotions. My mother can never compose herself, which is one of the reasons—aside from the utter betrayal that still upsets me—that I preferred to come to the airport alone. We are born alone, we die alone, and I would like to not be coddled and suffocated for the remaining time in between.

  That’s why I get along so well with my dad. He understands me. Hell, he’s practically just like me. Or I suppose, I’m just like him. He is focused and driven. He doesn’t let emotions overcome him. He understands that a firm pat on the shoulder from him makes me more emotional than a full-body hug, and his good-bye was enough warmth to last me through the next three weeks.

  I take my passport and boarding ticket from the woman and watch as my luggage, one piece after another, disappears into the hidden maze that moves silently through JFK to the appropriate plane. I think back to my dad as I get in the TSA line, the image of his cool eyes settling into my chest. I caught an ounce of maybe regret in them when he said his good-bye, but he looked happy at the same time. His mixed emotions left me feeling a little sick at the thought of leaving, but there’s not much I can do about it now.

  I hand my passport and ticket over at the security check and then find myself seated on the seven twenty-five p.m. flight to London Heathrow.

  Sunday, September 22nd

  Are you kidding me?

  London Heathrow Airport

  Seven hours later, I’m woken up as we are descending into the London area. I pull up my window shade, ready to let the sunshine wake me, but all I see is a gray sky.

  Of course. My mood matches the color.

  After landing, I make my way through passport control, withdrawing my exchange paperwork for them to look over, and then I try to find my name on one of the many pieces of papers held up to greet arrivals.

  I get a little worried when I don’t find either Mallory or James. I move to a bench and pull out my phone, connecting to the Wi-Fi before texting my dad.

  Me: I can’t fi
nd my driver.

  I watch the little dots moving on-screen, showing that he’s typing.

  Dad: We didn’t book you one.

  Me: Are you kidding me?

  Dad: Yes.

  Me: What?

  All I see is those dots again, and I get frustrated, my heart pounding in my chest.

  Me: ?????

  Dad: Your host family is picking you up. You should look for one Helen Williams. She has your photo.

  I read the text twice, realizing how unprepared I was for this arrival. And how little my parents seem to care that their daughter just landed in a foreign country and is all alone. I call my dad.

  “So, I’m supposed to just wait for Helen to arrive?” I ask, irritated.

  “Honey, I just received a message from her that she’s meeting you there. Your flight landed early, and apparently, you’ve made it through immigration quicker than she expected.”

  “Do you realize how insane this is?”

  “You declared quite clearly that you were an adult and could handle yourself. I shouldn’t have had to tell you about this. You should have asked.”

  My mouth gapes open at my dad’s comment.

  “You’re kidding me, right? You don’t have to take everything I say so literally.”

  “You’re not a Park Avenue princess, Mallory. Don’t make the slip from dramatic to ungrateful. She is almost there. I gave her your contact information as well, just in case.”

  “Throwing me to the wolves then, I see.” Or to London, I suppose. Or to this random woman who is apparently picking me up. “You know, I’m still at the airport. You can change your mind. I’m sure there’s a flight to JFK. And, oh, would you look at that? There’s one leaving in a little over an hour. That’s just enough time for a little wave to Helen before heading home. See? I came; I saw.”