Sparks in Scotland Read Online Free Page A

or history or science I want to take, which is nice.”
    â€œWhat classes did ya take this year?”
    I described my sophomore year schedule, including how I’d lucked out and got to take both art and photography. “So I was able to get out of study hall and do more art.”
    â€œI just finished my fourth year of secondary school,” he told me. “From what I understand, our school systems are quite different. For us, secondary school starts when yer eleven or twelve, and ya go for up to six years.”
    â€œSo you guys basically group middle school and high school together. Interesting.” I’d never imagined how different school systems could be, depending on where you lived in the world.
    We walked into the Great Hall, which was a large red and wood-trimmed room lined with swords and armor. It was massive and imposing, and I couldn’t stop staring.
    â€œOh wow,” I breathed. “This is gorgeous.”
    Mom pointed out a display case to Mollie, and they walked over to study it.
    â€œSo what do you do when you’re not in school?” I asked him. What was life like for the average Scottish guy?
    â€œWell, I put on a kilt and run through the Highlands as my friends and I dance to the bagpipes.” His lips quirked as he stared at me with a lifted eyebrow.
    I scrunched up my face in mock consternation. “Okay, you’re putting me on.” Though I had to admit, his comment drew a huff of laughter out of me.
    â€œMaybe a wee bit,” he admitted with a grin. “I go on my computer, talk to friends, play the drums—”
    â€œOh, you’re a musician.” My heart thunked. Stupid weakness of mine; I loved guys who were musically inclined. “I wish I could play something. I tried trumpet in middle school and I was awful.”
    â€œI started when I was a lad. Da taught me. I’m in a band, actually.”
    â€œThat’s so cool,” I breathed. “What kind of music do you play? Do you do covers of songs or write original pieces?”
    â€œWe do both. I’ve written a couple of songs, but we also cover popular rock groups. We’ve played a few parties, that kind of thing. We have another gig in a few weeks, actually.” I could hear the pride in his voice.
    We walked in companionable silence for a moment. Wow. My first impression of Graham was nothing like how he really was. All his earlier attitude was gone—either he’d gotten over whatever had made him crabby, or he’d decided to let it go and try to enjoy the day.
    We followed our moms and wandered around through the rest of the building, but I had to admit, the castle didn’t hold as much of my interest as Graham did. As we walked, he offered commentary on a few of the portraits, relaying strange and quirky facts about the castle’s inhabitants.
    â€œHow do you know so much?” I asked him.
    His face was deadpan. “All Scots know these things.”
    â€œReally?” Wow, that put us Americans to shame. Probably half my friends couldn’t tell me the names of the last five presidents.
    He chuckled. “No, I’m teasing ya. My da—”
    â€œCome on, guys,” Mollie interrupted, reaching out to tug his hand. “You’re dragging along, and we’re hungry. Let’s finish touring the castle and get something to eat on the Royal Mile. And kick up our feet for a bit too—mine are aching.”
    The rest of our tour went a little faster. We poked around the War Memorial and the Half Moon Battery, then left the castle. I’d gotten several good photographs I was happy with.
    â€œThat was incredible,” I told Graham in a rush.
    â€œ ’Twas,” he agreed.
    The sun was warm, so I stripped my fleece off and tied it around my waist. Graham’s gaze raked over me, and then he quickly looked away. Luckily, he didn’t see the flush crawl across my cheeks. I turned my attention to the