Page 13 of Save Me

At this point, someone’s brown hair catches my attention. A girl has gone over to them. She exchanges a few words and points to something in her hand. As the wind blows her hair off her face, I recognize her.

I seriously can’t afford to be seen with you.

The memory of her words feels like a punch in the guts. Nobody has ever said anything like that to me before.

Generally, the opposite is the case. People aredesperateto be seen with me. From the moment I started at this school, I’ve had people latching on to me, trying to get my attention. It goes with the name. Since my mother’s family founded Beaufort’s, the gentlemen’s outfitters, a hundred and fifty years ago, building it up into a multibillion-pound empire, everyone in the country knows who we are. The name “Beaufort” means money. Influence. Power. And there are loads of people at Maxton Hall who think I could get them those things—or even a fraction of them—if they just butter me up enough.

I’d need more than the fingers of both hands to count how often I’ve partied all night with someone and then they’ve tried to slip me a design for a suit. How often people have got chatting to me just so they can ask for my parents’ contact details. How often people have tried to worm their way into my group of friends just so they can get gossip on Lydia and me and sell it to the press. The picture of me doing a line of coke at Wren’s sixteenth two yearsago is just one example. And that’s not counting everything Lydia’s had to go through.

That’s why I pick my friends very carefully. Wren, Alistair, Cyril, and Kesh have no interest in my money—they’ve got more than enough of their own. Alistair and Cyril are from seriously posh families, Wren’s parents are filthy rich city traders, and Kesh’s dad is a famous film director.

Peoplewantus to notice them.

Everyone but…

My eyes are fixed on Ruby. Her dark hair shines in the sunlight, tousled by the wind. She’s battling against her fringe, smoothing it down with one hand, but it’s pointless—two seconds later, it’s blowing everywhere again. I’m pretty sure I’d never set eyes on her before the business with Lydia. Now I wonder how that was possible.

I seriously can’t afford to be seen with you.

Everything about her raises my suspicions—especially her piercing green eyes. I want to walk over to her, to see if she looks at other people the way she looked at me, with fire and scorn.

That girl saw my sister making out with a teacher. What is she planning? Is she just biding her time? It wouldn’t be the first time my family have hit the headlines.

Mortimer Beaufort’s 20-Year-Old Lover

Cordelia Beaufort Battling Depression

Addict! Will Drugs Destroy James Beaufort?

Dad had dinner with a colleague, and the media turned it into an affair; my parents had a row, and suddenly my mum wasmassively depressed; and they made me into a junkie on the brink of overdose, in need of rescue. God knows what the hacks would write if they heard about Lydia and Sutton.

I keep watching Ruby. She digs a camera out of her backpack and takes a photo of the coaches as they shake hands again. I grip my stick so hard I hear my gloves squeaking. I can’t make sense of Ruby and have no clue if she meant what she said or if she hides ice-cold calculation behind that façade.

My family’s fate—and especially Lydia’s—lies in that girl’s hands, and I don’t like that one bit.

I seriously can’t afford to be seen with you.

We’ll see about that.

Ruby

I’m out of my depth.

Lacrosse is a fast-moving sport. The ball shoots from one stick to another, and I can’t keep up—either with the camera or the naked eye. I should have known from the start that I couldn’t report on the game without Lin. We normally split our articles, whatever the sport, so that one of us takes notes on the match and the other takes the photos. But Lin’s mum ordered her up to London again today, and at such short notice that we didn’t have time to get anyone else on the events team to step in.

But posts about the lacrosse team get way more clicks on the events team blog than anything else, so we can’t miss this. The problem is, I can’t write a report on “Maxton vs. Eastview—Battle of the Titans” without understanding what’s happening on the field. But with everyone yelling at once—players, swearing coaches, andcheers and boos from the crowd—it’s hard to follow the action, let alone get photos of the key moments. Especially seeing that I’m working with a camera that is well over ten years old.

“Shit!” Mr. Freeman roars beside me, so loud that I jump a mile. I look up from the camera in my hand to find that I’ve missed Eastview’s second goal. Rats. Lin’s going to kill me.

I take a step closer to the coach. There are no action replays when you’re watching live, but maybe he can explain what’s happening. But before I can open my mouth, he’s shouting again.

“Pass, for God’s sake, Ellington!”

I whirl back toward the field. Alistair Ellington is sprinting into the other half, so fast that I don’t even bother raising the camera—I’d never catch that on film. He tries to dodge between two defenders, but suddenly a third man is blocking his way. Ellington is bloody fast but much smaller than the others. Even I can see he has no chance against three of them.

One defender crashes his shoulder into him hard. Ellington tries to hold his ground but is pushed back at least a foot.

“Pass!” the coach roars again.

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