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Royal & Ancient

By Amanda Lauer

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Chapter I
Grass tickled my nose as I lay face down on the ground. I squeezed my eyes to block out the rays of the sun warming my cheek. In the distance, waves crashed against the shore.
A twig snapped nearby. My mind spun in confusion. Even though it felt and sounded like I was on the golf course, that didn’t make sense. I was supposed to be working on this green, not napping on it.
As I filled my lungs with fresh late May air, the rich smell of the earth tickled its way through my nostrils. I forced my eyes open a slit. My vision was hazy, but it confirmed the sound I’d just heard. Somebody was approaching.
Try as I might, I couldn’t pry my eyelids open any further to see who it was. I lapsed back into unconsciousness, and my mind picked up where it’d left off moments before.
I’d started working at St. Andrew’s County Club the first day of spring. The last two weeks of school before summer break, I’d worked nearly full time at the course in addition to taking final exams. Exhausting, but I finished my junior year strong, and I was banking up money for my college fund.
If I’d known back in March that Dad would be PCSing—that’s Permanent Change of Station for us civilians— this summer, I probably wouldn’t have taken the job and instead enjoyed my final months in New England. PCS was somewhat of a misnomer. The most permanent assignment Dad had served since I was born had lasted a whole two and a half years.
When Dad had helped me get the position at the golf course then, it seemed too good to be true. Twenty-plus dollars an hour to putz around in a golf cart selling drinks to senior golfers? And earning tips too? It didn’t get much better than that.
At seventeen, I was legally too young to drive the drink cart. But Dad tended bar at St. Andrew’s a couple nights a week and was able to get management to overlook that minor detail. Thank goodness. The other option had been lifeguarding at the club’s private pool. I’d gotten my lifeguard certification two summers ago before we’d moved to the East Coast. However, with my Scottish heritage, no SPF could keep my fair skin from burning to a crisp after an hour in the sun. And my fear of being in water over my head didn’t help either.
A soft voice prodded me awake again. “a’ Bh-uas?”
My eyelids resisted opening as if lead weights rested on them. A touch as gentle as a dragonfly’s wings brushed my face.
I didn’t possess the energy to move my arm, but I was able to pry open my eyelids. My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t an insect I’d felt; it was a hand—a male hand—lightly caressing my cheek. My gaze traveled from the hand to a muscular arm, a sturdy shoulder, then a guy’s face. A drop-dead-gorgeous guy—Hollywood good looks, around my age.
My eyes rolled back in my head, and I was out again, visions of St. Andrews floating through my brain.
One perk of being employed at the country club was free golf, something I really enjoyed. But I’d only gotten on the course a couple times since I’d started, although I could’ve used the practice. My golf game was so-so, especially compared to Dad’s. He always insisted on playing best ball when we golfed together, so after teeing off, I generally shot from his lie, which gave me half the number of swings that I’d take on my own. I’d hoped to improve my game, working at a golf course, but most days, by the time my shift ended, all I wanted was to collapse into the nearest bed.
Despite the intense hours, working at St. Andrew’s Golf Club was the best job I’d had. Last summer I’d bussed tables at a wedding hall. I discovered soon enough that I wasn’t a fan of the late nights, rowdy guests, and hoisting trays that weighed almost as much as I did.
But that’d been a step up from my first venture into the working world—babysitting. I love newborns and infants, but older kids were just so-so.
Even kids my own age. As the only child of a military dad, we’d made so many moves through the years, I grew less enthusiastic with each relocation to put in the effort it took to create meaningful friendships. It seemed like most people forgot about me the minute our moving van pulled out of town. Sure, at first there’d be texts from the girls I’d hung out with, but they’d dwindle as time went on. Once I was finally old enough, it made more sense to invest my time working rather than making friends. At least I could take the money with me.
Who knew what my next job would be? Dad and I were headed for the West Coast pretty soon—maybe in a new place, I’d try a new profession? I like cooking—or at least watching cooking shows on food channels. I like crafting too, but I’m not sure how I’d monetize that. Maybe I should apply for a job at a library, get paid to sit and read all day?
I’d figure something out. Dad had made it clear I needed to cover part of my college tuition myself, and I wasn’t even close to having enough in my savings yet, at least not for a traditional four-year school. Dad insists I go that route. He joined the Air Force straight out of high school. His parents were dirt-poor immigrants from Scotland, so he needed to do something to earn money, rather than something that cost money.
I’d be the first one in our family to get a bachelor’s degree. Who knows, maybe along the way I’ll earn my MRS. That’d be something—here I am, on the verge of my senior year of high school, and I’ve never even been on a date. My entire life, I’ve been the new girl in school. You’d think it would get easier to meet people with each move, but it actually gets harder. Friend groups get tighter and more exclusive as kids are together longer.
Not only that, it didn’t seem like I fit in that well no matter where we moved. The first day at a new school I always tried to dress like I thought the other girls would —but my undyed hair, scant makeup, non-tattered clothing, and lack of piercings gave me away. I’ll never forget the first time I heard “TGND” thrown my way. “The Girl Next Door” sounds nice, but it wasn’t meant as a compliment.
Occasionally I’d get invited to a group outing. The school before last, a girl named Chloe, who was my chemistry lab partner, was chatting early in the semester when we were supposed to be quizzing each other on the periodic table. “Hey, wanna do a coffee hangout after school?” she’d whispered. “That’d be great,” I’d replied. I liked coffeeshops, even if I wasn’t a serious coffee drinker.
Several girls from our class met up that afternoon. For the most part, I listened in as they talked about the boys in our class, online shopping, the newest trends on social media, and celebrity gossip.
“So, Bronwyn, what series are you binge-watching now?” asked a blonde named Madison. The answer came right to the tip of my tongue. I’d seen every episode about my dream family more than once. Daddy, Mama, seven siblings, and grandparents Pa and Ma all living life under one roof through the good times and the hard times. “The Waltons.”
The second the words came out of my mouth; I wished I could’ve inhaled them back in. Raised eyebrows and snickering told me that my answer did not make the cut. “Excuse me,” I’d said, looking to get out of the awkward situation for a moment, “I have to use the bathroom.” No surprise, by the time I came back two minutes later, the entire group had ditched me and I had to pay for a ride share back home.
Guy and girl get-togethers went even worse. Making out with guys I barely knew and the whole hook-up culture in general didn’t sync with my faith or values. Whatever happened to dating? Or courting, as they called it in sweet love stories.
At this moment, though, what I desired most was a few more minutes of sleep before I needed to get up and finish packing. Exhaustion paralyzed me. I could barely move a muscle. What was I thinking when I agreed to take a shift at the country club the day after school got out and twenty-four hours before we were set to move? It just didn’t feel right to abandon the rest of the crew on the busiest day of the season. Catholic guilt was ingrained in me—even if I hadn’t attended Catholic school since sixth grade.
My reverie was interrupted by someone clearing his throat. I lifted my head and forced one eyelid upward.
Holy cow. Both eyes snapped fully open. This wasn’t a dream. I really was lying on the grass, and there really was a hot young guy kneeling next to me.

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