Page 16 of Save Me

The rain feels freezing now.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, sounding braver than I really feel.

He makes a brief sound that’s probably meant as a laugh. Or abark? I’m not quite sure. All I know is that his stance is stiffer and even more unyielding than ever.

“Keep your hands off my friends, Ruby.”

Before I can reply, he rushes past me into the changing room as the crowd roars.

6

James

“This party’s shit.” Wren takes a big gulp from his hip flask and passes it to Cyril, who’s standing next to him, leaning on the railing with an equally unimpressed look on his face.

Below us is Weston Hall, a huge ballroom with the Renaissance windows, intricate parquet floor, and stuccoed walls that are typical of Maxton. Like the whole place, the atmosphere in this room makes you feel like you’ve been transported back to the fifteenth century—or it normally does, anyway.

This evening, it makes you feel like you’ve wandered into a kiddies’ birthday party. There are fussy decorations, and on the buffet table, there’s nonalcoholic punch and canapés served in little jam jars, tied up with colorful ribbons. The music is dire. There’s a DJ, but what he thinks he’s doing is a mystery to me. There’s no transition between the songs; it’s more like he just picked a Spotify playlist and pressed shuffle. I almost expect to hear irritating adverts between tracks, plugging some dire newcomer. To top it all off, nobody seems to have given the guests a clear dress code. Some people are way overdressed and others have gone to no effort at all.

The whole party is a total disaster. It’s like someone was trying to shake things up a bit at Maxton Hall but didn’t have the guts to chuck out all the traditions altogether. The end result is a total mishmash of styles that’s confusing the hell out of everyone. No wonder there’s no atmosphere.

“Hey, it’s not that bad.” Alistair breaks in on my thoughts. He buries his hands in his pockets and bobs up and down on the balls of his feet, his eyes fixed on the dance floor below us, where a few brave souls are now standing.

“No one but you ever likes these parties.” Kesh rolls his eyes.

Alistair shrugs his shoulders. “They’re hilarious.”

Kesh pulls a face. He takes the hip flask from Cyril and hands it to me without drinking.

“It’s about to get a whole lot funnier, believe me.” I allow myself a large swig of whisky, enjoying the burn as it slides down my throat.

Wren looks from me to Alistair and back again. Then his eyes widen. “Something up your sleeve?”

I ignore the question and give the merest hint of a shrug, but Alistair never could control his expression. You don’t need to know him all that well to spot that he’s up to something. His eyes twinkle conspiratorially, and he can’t keep still—a total giveaway.

“No way. You planned something and toldhimbut not me?” Wren points accusingly at Alistair and then me. “You’re my best mate. I consider that a personal insult.”

I grin. “An insult?”

He nods. “High treason. Acting against the sacred bonds of brotherhood that have bound us since our childhood days.”

“Bullshit.”

My dry tone earns me a punch on the shoulder.

“Look at it like this, Wren—it means you’ll get a nice surprise,” Alistair says, pinching Wren’s cheek, who grimaces, but lets it pass.

“I hope for both your sakes that it’ll be worth it.”

He’s already slurring a bit, and this is only the third round of the flask. Even so, when Wren makes another grab for it, I let him. It’s a waste of good Bowmore to swig it in secret up here rather than savoring it in a crystal tumbler, but at school parties, the booze is kept for the parents and old-Maxtonians. The likes of us aren’t allowed anywhere near the bar. That’s never stopped us making our own fun though, and most teachers turn a blind eye if they clock that we’ve been drinking. The worst we’ve ever got for it has been a warning.

My parents splash so much cash each year that the school has no choice but to be lenient. They simply can’t afford to alienate us or our friends.

“Where’s Lydia anyway?” Cyril asks. He’s trying to sound casual, but he can’t fool us. Cyril’s been into my sister forever. And it’s been way worse since they got together for a bit two years ago. Lydia was only interested in a bit of fun and split up with him after a couple of weeks—she had no idea that Cyril was head over heels and that she was breaking his heart.

Sometimes I’m genuinely sorry for him. Especially when I remember that he hasn’t been involved with anyone since and that he’s clearly still mourning her.

“Don’t you think it’s time to…I dunno…move on or something?” Alistair asks.

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