Page 75 of Save Us
“I screwed up that test too. No sweat, Ember-pet,” says Maisie cheerily, slapping me on the back.
“Was that meant to rhyme?” I ask with a grin.
“No, but it just shows my incredible way with words,” she says, smiling back at me.
“That’s not what Mrs. Wright says.” She goes to hit me again, and I dodge, almost stumbling down the next step.
“Hello? You have to be nice to me. I’m not the one with a hot, secret boyfriend who picks me up from school.”
“I don’t have a hot, secret…” I begin, but stop in mid-sentence as I see someone leaning against the railing at the bottom of the steps, looking up at me with his hands dug into his pockets.
Wren.
He’s here.
At my school.
I bite my tongue. I’m angry but insecure. He didn’t reply to my text. In fact, I haven’t heard a word from him since last weekend.
I have no idea what he’s doing here.
“See you tomorrow, yeah? Oh, and ask your mum if she can give you another scone for me, thanks. You’re the best!” Maisiecalls out, and before I get the chance to ask her to wait, she jumps down the rest of the steps, her plaits flying in the air behind her.
Suddenly, it’s just me, so I take a deep breath, then walk slowly down. Every time I’ve met Wren in the last few weeks, I’ve looked him over from head to toe, taking in every detail, such as the slight kink in his left ear, the little cigarette burn in his leather jacket, and the way his mouth crinkles when he smiles in a particular way.
Now, I don’t look at him, not even when we’re at eye level, and he opens his mouth to say something. I walk on past him without a word.
“Wait!” he calls, and I hear him running after me.
I ignore him.
“Of course we’re friends, Ember,” he calls out behind me.
I stop dead and press my lips firmly together.
Wren comes round and stands in front of me. It hurts to look at him, so I stare at the yellowing toes on his Converses.
Not much better.
How is it possible that I’ve invested this much in this friendship in such a short time?
How is it possible that I’m this much into this boy?
“I know this answer is way too late, but…wearefriends,” Wren repeats, more firmly this time.
Now I can’t help it—I look him in the eye. “It hasn’t felt that way this week,” I reply. “I’d got the idea that we were going to tell Ruby and everyone about us. And then, I find out from my sister that you’re throwing a party, and that you evidently don’t want me there.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. He runs his hand through his hair, andit’s only in this moment that I clock how much he sticks out here in his Maxton Hall uniform. Some kids eye us curiously as they walk past, but I don’t have the headspace to think about that now.
I shake my head. “You didn’t text me back all week. Or give me any sign of life. That’s not how friends act.”
“I know and I’m really sorry.” He spends a moment trying to find the right words. “But that party…All my friends came. I just couldn’t invite you as well, Ember.”
It feels like a stab in the chest as he says that, and I take a step backward.
I helped Wren set up his room and spent nights trawling the internet for student finance with him. I was the one who helped him deal with the whole situation, who was there for him when he needed to talk in the middle of the night. We spent hours talking and messaging. I thought we were good friends.
Apparently, I was wrong.
