Evan
secret boyfriend out of my head is a struggle, but it’s a little easier in Spearcrest, especially now I don’t see her as often.
The other Young Kings all seem to be having their own thing going on. Iakov, as usual, is having problems with his dodgy family and their fucked up relationship. Sev, who came back to school suddenly engaged, seems to be trapped in some one-sided powerplay with his brand new fiancée. Zachary is busy with some special academic programme for the smartest kids in Spearcrest, and, as always, obsessed with his unhealthy rivalry with Theodora Dorokhova, the Ice Queen of Spearcrest.
Only Luca remains cold, untouched and unconcerned, but being around him doesn’t make me feel better—the opposite.
Because Luca is part of the reason why I can never get any closer to Sophie than I am.
Normally, I can cope with this. I can slap on my careless grin and rip into Sophie for the entertainment of everybody else just so I get to be close to her. In my head and in my heart, I can think about her however I want. And that’s fine.
But nowadays, that’s getting more and more difficult to do.
Up till now, I never had to worry about anything. Up till now, it felt as though Sophie would always be in my life. But now, she’s slipping away. Our time at Spearcrest is slowly but inevitably coming to an end, and Sophie apparently already has one foot out of the door.
How the fuck did she manage to get a boyfriend?
I was so fucking careful to keep her alienated from everybody at school it never occured to me I would push her straight out into the arms of boys outside. The thought of it sickens me—and it’s all I can think about.
Everytime I close my eyes or stop to think, Sophie is in my head, sitting next to some anonymous boy—some nameless, faceless nobody. Everytime I close my eyes, she’s with him, smiling at him, talking to him the way she used to talk to me back in Year 9. Earnest, self-assured, and a little too serious.
What if he holds her hand and touches her and kisses her cheeks, her mouth, her neck? What if he gets to see what’s under those black tights and grandpa sweaters? What if he gets to take her back to his, to spread her on his bed all bare and soft and needy?
My stomach twists and my fists clench at the thought. I don’t get to touch Sophie—why should anybody else?
Since I can’t say any of this to anybody, I end up stuck in an endless loop of imagining scenarios and repressing my anger and frustration.
I must have underestimated the effect this is having on me, because it all comes out explosively the next Monday at school. I’m sitting on the steps of the Old Manor—the central and oldest building on campus—with the other Young Kings, the giant column-born roof shielding us from the rain. Iakov is chain-smoking as usual, filling the air with tendrils of smoke, and Sev is, as he so often is these days, ranting about his fiancée.
Out of nowhere, a voice reaches us. “You all need to get up and leave. Now.”
My head turns so quickly I almost give myself whiplash. At the top of the steps, standing in the doorway into the Old Manor, is Sophie Sutton. Her hair is tied back in a low ponytail, and she’s holding her clipboard to her chest like some sort of protective armour. Her eyes are hooded and her expression is about as unhappy as someone walking to their certain death. My heart leaps in my throat.
I force myself not to sit up from where I’m lying back, propped against my backpack. But my eyes find Luca; he’s not made an attempt to hide his sudden interest. He sits up slowly, his pale eyes raking the length of Sophie.
Spikes of ice pierce my skin. I speak before he can.
“Here we go again, everyone. Sophie Sutton, looking for whatever scrap of attention she can get.”
“Mr Ambrose sent me,” she says icily.
“Oh don’t worry,” I smirk. “We all know you’re his special little kiss-ass. Does it get you off, Sutton, doing his dirty work like this? Does it get you a nice little pat on the head for being his good little bitch?”
Her cheeks darken, but she doesn’t even deign to send a look my way. She looks at everyone but me, which only infuriates me more.
“Couldn’t you all find somewhere smarter to smoke and save us all the trouble?” she says, voice low with anger.
“Ta gueule,” Sev mutters under his breath. Then he waves a dismissive hand at her. “Get fucked, Sophie. I don’t have the patience for your shit today. Christ, you Brits are so fucking horny for rules.”
“I don’t think it’s rules Sophie’s horny for, Sev,” Luca drawls. “She’s clearly come here looking for something—why don’t we give it to her?” He raises an eyebrow at Sophie. “Craving some attention? Do you need one of us to shove a cock down your throat, Sophie? Is that the only way to shut you up?”
I taste bile in my throat. Luca doesn’t even hate Sophie—not really. He just loves playing with what’s mine. Her name probably tastes delicious to him because he says it and I don’t—not anymore.
The thought of his cock down her throat makes me see red. If his cock goes anywhere near her lips, I’ll rip it off his body myself.
But I can’t say any of this. I can’t let him know I care.
“If Sutton wanted a cock down her throat,” I say, moving my eyes over Sophie’s black tights, her knee-length skirt, her blazer, “she would make a bit more of an effort. Those bushy eyebrows and big teeth aren’t going to make anybody hard, especially when there are so many hot girls here. Nobody wants to fuck a dog when they could fuck a supermodel.”
“Oh, ouch, that one really hurt.” Sophie’s tone is bone dry but the flush in her cheeks darkens. “A dog, huh? Be careful, Evan, you might just cut yourself on the sharp edge of your wit.”
Before I can reply, she turns to Iakov. “Put out your cigarette or go smoke somewhere else.”
Iakov stares at her, and she stares back.
They both have a similar gaze, actually: dark and bleak. Watching them interact is like looking at two immovable statues facing one another. Iakov lifts his cigarette to his lips, takes a long drag, then stands. He’s the tallest of all of us, built like a tank, but Sophie never flinches, even as he approaches her.
I know for a fact Iakov would cut off his own hand before hurting a girl—outside of the bedroom—but my stomach still churns when he approaches her. My instinct is to stand, to get between them and tell him to stay away from her, but I push that instinct deep down inside.
Then, Iakov flicks what’s left of his cigarette with two fingers, shooting the glowing butt straight at Sophie’s chest. It hits her clipboard and falls at her feet. Iakov walks away without a word.
Sophie, her expression unchanged, crushes the butt under her heel and turns around.
“Leaving so soon, Sutton?” I call out lightly. “Got your fix of attention and now you’re done? I feel so used.”
Her head turns and she tosses me a look over her shoulder. It’s a look full of scorn and dislike, but all I can see when I look at her is another guy’s arms around her, another guy’s mouth moving against her skin. My body is raw and electric, as if I’ve just been hit by lightning.
“I could be staring at white paint drying on a white wall,” she sneers, “and it would still be more interesting than whatever trite shit is coming out of your mouth today.”
I tilt my head back. “What are you talking about my mouth for, Sutton? Is it on your mind?”
She narrows her eyes. “Why would it be when I’d get more pleasure kissing a slug?”
I bet she’s real proud of that one as well. Would hate her to think she landed a low though. So I give her my cockiest grin. “Good, because kissing slugs is the only action you’re likely to get this year, Sutton.”
She shrugs. “If you say so.”
And then she just walks away.
Sev throws her a dirty look and mutters, “Casse-couille.” He resumes his conversation with Zachary, but Luca’s eyes find me, no doubt amused and waiting to see what I’m going to do next. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but I’m too worked up to let the moment slip by.
Scrambling to my feet, I grab my backpack and climb up the steps two at a time.
“Where are you going?” Luca calls.
“I’ve got something I need to do!” I call back.
I don’t bother looking back.
By the time I catch up with her, Sophie is standing near the pastoral office in the Old Manor, ticking off things on her clipboard. That fucking clipboard. I grab her elbow and she looks up sharply.
The surprise in her face melts away, promptly replaced by irritation.
“What is it, Evan? Have you come here to subject me to more of your clumsy insults and awkward banter?”
“Clumsy? Awkward? Projecting much, Sutton?”
“I don’t have time for whatever this,” she gestures between us, “is. So if you want something, spit it out. Otherwise go and find something else to amuse yourself with, since we both know you’re not exactly spending your time studying or cultivating your mind.”
“You’re on fire today, Sutton. Every word coming out of your mouth is a bullet.”
“If only.” She gives a sigh full of fake wistfulness. “If my words could kill, you’d die every day.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay Sutton, we get it, you hate my guts.” I smirk. “You hate me so much I’m all you think about. You hate me so much you dream of me every night.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snaps. “Even the monsters in my nightmares have brain cells.”
“Maybe you should try fucking the monsters from your nightmare, Sutton. You might be less of an uptight bitch if you got laid—even if it’s only in your dreams.”
She doesn’t even dignify this with a response—not even a roll of her eyes. She simply turns around and walks off towards the pastoral office.
I grab her elbow once more and turn her around to face me.
“What do you want?” she grinds out between clenched teeth.
“I want to talk about the tutoring programme.”
She shakes her elbow loose from my grip and glares at me. “Talk to Miss Bailey.”
“I want to know where you’re going instead of tutoring me.” I cock an eyebrow and tilt my head. “Can’t exactly ask Miss Bailey, can I?”
For a moment, we just stare at one another. Her dark eyes slice into mine like black blades. Her face is hard with dislike and mistrust. But at least she’s looking at me, her attention entirely focused on me.
Not on Luca, or the other Young Kings. Not on some random guy outside of school. She’s here, with me, just within my grasp—exactly where I want her.
“Look, Evan,” she says finally, her raspy voice low and firm. “If you have a problem with the tutoring programme, talk to Miss Bailey. If you want to grass me up for not doing the tutoring programme—talk to Miss Bailey. I don’t owe you the truth—I don’t owe you anything at all. And even if I did, let me make something perfectly clear to you: I do not trust you. I will never trust you. I would love to be able to say I have never trusted you, but we both know that’s not true—and that’s exactly how we got where we are today. You might not learn from your mistakes, since nothing ever happens in your life to force you to learn, but luckily for you, we can both learn from my mistakes. And trusting you was the biggest of those mistakes.”
Her lips curl in a cold, hard imitation of a smile. “And with that said, I’m going to walk away and get on with my day. As for you, you can just go right ahead and—oh, I don’t know—fuck off.”
And then she whips around, her long ponytail following in a graceful arc, the tip whipping against my chest, and she strides away.
The Last Time Sophie Trusted Evan
from Spearcrest was like waking up from a nightmare but then realising you are still asleep, just in a slightly different nightmare. My parents spent the entire holiday asking me about school, the teachers, the lesson. Asking me about the other kids, the friends I’d made.
I could talk well enough about the quality of the learning, about how hard I’d been working, about enrolling into after-school clubs. My teachers across almost every subject told me I’d be moving up sets after the holidays—a clear proof of my academic capabilities.
But this wasn’t really what my parents wanted to know. Doing well at school wasn’t the kind of thing they could be impressed by because it was what they expected—the bare minimum.
What they really wanted to know was whether I was making the most of the opportunities Spearcrest presented me. They wanted to know who I’d made friends with, if I was making connections with the kids of politicians, or actors, or lawyers, or CEOs.
I kept all my answers vague. I didn’t want them to lecture me about the importance of making connections in Spearcrest. Equally, I didn’t want them to go snooping around my friends, though of course, I only had one friend. Evan.
But if I told them about Evan I would inevitably have to deal with the questions, with them giving me a whole breakdown of his family’s wealth and importance. And I didn’t want that.
Spending time with Evan made me forget I was in Spearcrest. It made me feel, even for a little while, like I was a normal teen with a normal school. Evan didn’t talk about his family, or his money. He talked about films he liked, comics he read, his favourite sweets and snacks, about his sister and his dog. Normal things, like a normal person.
So I spend most of the holiday hating my time away and simultaneously dreading the new term, but when the new term starts, it’s not as bad as I thought. Lining up outside the main hall for the start of term assembly, I’m just staring out at the pale grey sky and the snow crowning the naked branches of the trees when a hand grabs my elbow.
I turn and see summer sky-blue eyes and a headful of curls gleaming like pale gold. A smile rises to my face. “Hey.”
“Hey, you.” Evan’s grin is all dimples and bright white teeth. He pulls a box from his pocket and hands it to me. “Merry late Christmas.”
I take the box. “Is this for me?”
“Yeah. It’s your Christmas present. Open it.”
My heart beats so hard in my chest it’s practically bruising my ribs. The box is small, but beautifully packaged in powder-blue paper, with a silver bow and curly ribbons.
Tearing open the wrapping feels almost rude, but Evan’s eager expression urges me on. I open the small box to find a small silver necklace, a tiny silver bear hanging from it.
Not a teddy bear, but a real bear, a tiny real bear with a long snout. I look up.
“Bears are my favourite animals.”
He smiles. “I know. They are super smart and are some of the only animals who grieve for each other—I remember.”
I swallow back a lump in my throat and close the box. “I didn’t get you anything.”
He shrugs. “That’s fine. We didn’t say we were going to get presents, but I saw it when my sister dragged me with her when she was shopping, and I thought you might like it.”
I did like it. I liked it so much I wore it every day after that.
Every day—until the last day I trusted Evan.
It was after assembly one time, and I’d received an award for an essay I wrote. It was a humiliating ordeal as ever, to stand in front of the entire year group to receive a certificate, with everyone looking at me and whispering about my parents being cleaners.
But by that time I was getting pretty good at disassociating. I went to the front, watching myself from afar, and left myself vacant for the rest of the assembly.
After the assembly, I hastened away from the crowd of students pouring out of the assembly hall.
But before I could get away, a hand caught my elbow. I turned to see Evan’s face once more. Blue eyes, sunshiney hair, wide smile.
“Congrats on your award, Sophie. Can’t believe your essay is gonna get published.”
I waved a hand. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” His grin was like a little campfire, bathing me with light and warmth. “It’s cool. Well done, Sophie.”
I sighed and finally relaxed, a chuckle melting from me. “Thanks.”
We looked at each other, and the moment became strange, different. Soft. He opened his arms and raised an eyebrow at me. I laughed, and stepped into the bracket of his arms. We hugged: he was warm, and he smelled good: deodorant and shampoo. Heat flushed through me, radiating from my heart and from his body.
We pulled apart. His cheeks were flushed, as flushed as mine felt. We laughed and set off to our English classroom—even though we no longer shared a class.
The day after, everything changed, and my friendship with Evan ended as suddenly and unexpectedly as it began.
