Page 15 of Save Me

“I think my mum bought it before my sister was born,” I reply.

“And how old is your sister? Five?”

“Sixteen.”

Alistair blinks a few times, then a grin spreads over his face. Now he doesn’t look like the tough lacrosse player who was beating another guy with his stick a moment ago. He looks more like…an angel. His features are handsome and even, and together with the blond curls, he looks utterly harmless. But I know that’s not true. Alistair is one of James Beaufort’s best friends—which makes him anything but harmless.

“Hold on,” he says suddenly, then turns and vanishes into the changing room. Before I can ask where he’s going, he’s back beside me. He’s holding a black iPhone in his hand.

“I don’t have space to film the whole match, but I can take some photos,” he says. He unlocks the screen, opens the camera, and turns the phone to face the field. When he sees that I haven’t moved, he raises an eyebrow again. “Watch the game, not me.”

I blink, confused. I’m too surprised even to be embarrassed that he caught me staring again. “You’re helping me?”

He shrugs. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do right now.”

“That’s…kind of you.” I try not to sound too suspicious but without much success. This situation is so surreal. I can’t believe this is Elaine’s brother. Elaine would never have helped me. She’d just have laughed at my camera and made sure everyone else knew about it tomorrow too.

For a while, I watch Alistair out of the corner of my eye, but he does seem to be taking his new task seriously. He snaps photo after photo, only sometimes lowering the phone to yell encouragement at his team or swear at the opposition.

I focus on my notes, which is much easier now. When Mr. Freeman comes over, I think at first that he’s going to send Alistair away altogether because of the rude words he’s shouting at an Eastview player. But instead, he stands next to me and starts explaining the game and telling me what some of the moves are called.

It starts raining in the last ten minutes of the match, but that doesn’t seem to dampen the mood, either on the field or in the stands. Quite the reverse. Maxton Hall wins thanks to a goal from Beaufort and an assist from Cyril Vega, and the fans go wild. The coach throws his arms up in the air, fists clenched, and roars.

I hurriedly shut my notebook and shove it into my bag. My hair is dripping now, and my fringe is plastered onto my face. There’sno point trying to sort it out and no way that I want to push it back—sadly, I inherited my dad’s high forehead.

One by one, the players jog off the field and high-five Alistair—everyone but Keshav, who walks toward the changing room without looking at him. An emotion I can’t identify flits over Alistair’s face. His grin slips for a split second, and his eyes go dark, impenetrable. But then he blinks and the moment passes so rapidly that I decide I only imagined it.

Yet again, Alistair catches me looking at him. He raises his eyebrows.

“Thanks again,” I say hastily, before he can speak. I don’t know if he’ll still be nice to me with his friends around, and I don’t want to find out. “For the photos.”

“No problem.” He taps his phone screen and then holds it out to me. He’s got the number pad up. “Give me your number, and I’ll send them to you.”

I take the phone. Before I’ve typed in the last number, I hear a voice that I know only too well these days.

“What are you two up to?”

I look up.

James Beaufort is facing me. He’s soaked to the skin. His reddish-blond hair is much darker than normal and hanging down in his face, making his cheekbones look sharper than ever. He has his stick in one hand and helmet in the other and doesn’t seem to care that the water is running off his face, down his shoulders, and over his whole body, mingling with the mud that’s crusted his top during the game.

Against my will, I’m staring at his wet body. The sight of him is stirring something very far from suspicion and loathing insideme. It’s an unfamiliar emotion, but I’m pretty sure that James Beaufort is the last person I should be feeling like this about.

Firmly, I suppress all thoughts about what it could mean and try to look as unfazed as possible.

Luckily, Alistair answers his question. “She’s writing up the game on the Maxton blog.” He takes his phone from my hand, looks at the number and the name I’ve saved it under. I doubt he knew who I was until just now. “I’ll send you the photos later, Ruby.”

“Great, thanks,” I say, although I’m preparing my mind for the fact that he probably won’t. However much he’s surprised me in the last half hour, he’s still Alistair Ellington.

“I’ll go and see how angry Kesh is,” he tells James.

“Raging,” James says, turning his cold eyes on his friend and teammate. “And so am I, and everyone else. I told you not to touch McCormack.”

“And I didn’t listen.” Alistair shrugs his shoulders. “You might be captain, James, but you’re not my mother.” He sounds like he doesn’t care what James thinks of him, but when he claps him on the shoulder, it looks to me like an apology. Then he turns on his heel and walks to the changing room.

James is still watching me. His eyes are colder than before. Whether that’s because of me or the brief bust-up with Alistair, I don’t know, but I just want to get out of here as soon as possible.

“What was that?” he asks.

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