Page 85 of Save Me

I beam at her again. “It says here that I get free accommodation and meals.”

“There, I knew you’d picked the right college,” says Dad, his eyes sparkling happily.

“I know exactly what you need to wear.” Ember grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairs.

“I picked my Oxford outfits back before the summer holidays.” Longer than that, really, if you take into account the Oxford Style Pinterest board I’ve had for over a year, which Ember and I constantly pin inspirations to. I wave to Mum and Dad as Ember drags me along behind her. From the stairs, I hear my parents.

“Oxford,” whispers Mum.

“Oxford,” Dad replies equally quietly.

They sound so happy. I hope with all my heart that I’ll do well in the interviews. I want to keep making them proud, being their reason to be so pleased. When my family is happy, I am too.

I let Ember pull me into my bedroom and over to my wardrobe. As she pulls out heaps of clothes and lays them in outfits on my bed, I fill in the reply form and confirm that I will be attending. Then I send Lin a screenshot of the message and wait nervously for her to answer.

I still can’t quite believe it.

It might only be for four days, but: I’m going to Oxford.

It’s dark by the time we arrive on Sunday evening. Even so, my parents, Ember, and I decide to take a stroll. St. Hilda’s is at the eastern end of the High, and we walk along the Cherwell, its water glittering moodily in the light of the streetlamps, and between the imposing buildings in weathered but far from weather-beaten stone. The bay windows with white frames and little balustrades exude the charm of old stories, and I long to hear them all one day.

St. Hilda’s is just beautiful. I push Dad over the paved paths in the college grounds with Mum and Ember on either side of us, and it feels like I’m walking straight into a fairy tale. The grinthat’s been permanently fixed to my face since last week broadens further still.

“Next year, you’ll be sitting right there,” says Dad out of nowhere, pointing to the lawn on our left. “With a pile of textbooks under your nose. On a tartan blanket.”

“That’s a very precise image, Dad,” I say with a smile.

“It is.” He nods solemnly.

Apart from its prettiness, I like St. Hilda’s for its diversity, sense of community, and the respect its students have for one another. Everyone’s welcome here, no matter where they’re from or what their background is. After my time at Maxton Hall, that’s what I need. I want to feel at home and not to have to hide away again. I can’t imagine spending the next three years at one of the more conservative colleges, like Balliol.

Besides, St. Hilda’s has unicorns on its coat of arms.

“I can’t believe I’m really here,” I whisper. “I’m so lucky.”

Ember clicks her tongue. “It’s not luck. You worked hard for this.”

She’s right. But the thought of the interviews over the next couple of days still makes me feel sick. I have to do a bit of last-minute preparation tonight and look through the notes I made during Pippa’s sessions. I know them off by heart, but I know it’ll make me feel better all the same.

Once we’ve been to the porter’s lodge to get my key for the room I’ll be staying in for the next few days, I say goodbye to my family with a heavy heart, take my little blue holdall, and step inside. The building is nothing special indoors—blue carpet, pale white walls—but I still have butterflies in my stomach as I climb the stairs to the first floor. This might soon be my new home.

My room is at the end of the corridor on the left. I pull out mykey, and I’m about to stick it in the lock when I hear someone’s footsteps behind me. I turn around with a smile.

It dies on my lips.

I’d assumed it would be a student, but the person standing there has red-blond, wind-tousled hair and is wearing a black, tailored coat.

It’s James.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I exclaim. I thought he had applied to Balliol.

He looks just as surprised as me. His expression darkens, and he looks at the key in his hand. He takes three long strides, small suitcase in tow, and reaches the door opposite mine.

It feels like fate is playing an unkind trick on me.

Without a word, he opens the door and steps into his room. His glowering eyes rest on me a moment longer, then he shuts the door behind him, leaving me out in the hall.

I’ve had myself so firmly under control in the last few weeks. I’ve ignored him, even when it hurt, and acted like the whole thing had washed over me without a trace. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how angry and upset I am. And how much I miss him. But now I feel the rage rising up within me again. I’d love to go and kick his door in. I want to hurl all the pent-up words of the last few weeks at his head.

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