Page 63 of Save Me

When I get off the bus at school on Monday, James is leaning against the playing field fence, and he greets me with a crooked grin.

Given what happened a week ago at his parents’ shop, I’d never ever have believed I’d be pleased to see him waiting for me some morning.

“Hi,” I say, somewhat breathlessly, coming to a standstill in front of him.

His smile broadens. Apparently, he’s happy to see me too. “Hey.”

His eyes roam over my face, and again, there’s that unfamiliar feeling in my stomach. I wonder if my skin would tingle if he touched me the way he did on Friday. I hastily push the thought away to a dark corner of my brain. “Are you my escort for the day?”

His smile doesn’t slip. “I thought we could go in to assembly together so you don’t have to answer anyone’s questions.”

The next moment, he nods toward the school and starts walking. I hook my fingers through the straps on my backpack and follow him.

“How…How was the rest of your weekend?” I ask hesitantly.

“We had a family dinner yesterday.”

That’s all he says. I give him an inquiring sideways glance. He spots it, and his smile slowly fades.

“My aunt Ophelia was visiting. She and my dad don’t get on particularly well.”

For a moment, the fact that he’s told me something so personal leaves me speechless. I wasn’t expecting that, especially since he told me how badly he and his sister have been let down after trusting people in the past. On the other hand, I did tell him something about me on Friday. He must have noticed how hard that was for me. And maybe he feels the same as me. Maybe he can sense that something has changed and doesn’t want to go back to the stilted way we’ve acted around each other till now.

Hope blossoms inside me. I have no idea what to call this thing between James and me—friendship? More? Less?—but I’d like to find out, little by little.

“Was there trouble?”

He digs his hands in his pockets. “Family get-togethers are never exactly peaceful. The Beaufort companies actually belong to my mother and her sister. But after my parents married, my dad took control of a lot of stuff and made a lot of changes too, some of which were pretty unpopular—especially with Ophelia,” he explains.

“Does she work for the firm too?” I ask curiously.

James grunts. “Yeah, but she has no say in relation to the main company. She’s five years younger than Mum, and so she’s always been a bit left out. She’s more involved in the subsidiaries and other companies my parents have a stake in.”

I wonder what Ember would think if our parents left us a firmbut gave her no voice in it just because she’s younger. No wonder things get tense at Beaufort family dinners.

“There’ve been loads of decisions she’s disagreed with lately, so the mood was pretty crap. But…it was OK. I’ve had worse evenings with my family,” he says with a shrug, and the two of us turn left onto the path to Boyd Hall.

A girl in my history class comes past us. Her eyes widen at the sight of James and me together. I wrap my fingers a bit tighter around my backpack straps and gulp. But I put my chin up and stare back at her until she turns and walks off.

“Hey, easy there,” says James, nudging me slightly with his shoulder.

“What am I meant to do? If she stares, I’m going to stare back.”

He stands in front of me, blocking my path. “You’re letting it get to you too much. It doesn’t have to matter. Let them say whatever they like.”

“But it does matter.”

“So? They don’t have to know that. You just have to look like none of it interests you. Then they’ll leave you alone.”

Suddenly, his face changes—his eyelids droop a fraction, his eyebrows relax, his mouth turns up slightly at the corners. It’s his I-don’t-give-a-shit look, the one where he comes across as so arrogant that I want to shake him. “You look like you need a good beating.”

“I look like I’d enjoy a good beating. That’s the difference,” he replies, jerking his chin at me. “Your turn.”

I try to copy his expression. Not very successfully, if James’s twitching lips are anything to go by.

“OK. Well, maybe you could start by justnotlooking as though you’re imagining everyone around you being shot down in flames.”

We walk on, and I try to take his advice. Even so, the closer we get to the school, the sicker I feel. Just outside the door to Boyd Hall, James rests his hand on the back of my head and gives it a stroke. Only for a second. It’s probably meant to be encouraging, but suddenly, I’m nervous for a whole different reason. I don’t know how James does it, but a single touch from him is enough to throw my world off course. It’s a brand-new feeling for me, strange and weird. But kind of nice.

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