Page 1 of All Saints: Pledge

PROLOGUE

(SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL)

The first inkling I have that something is wrong is the same moment I settle into the overstuffed chair in the hallowed stone halls of Oxford University. It’s not the gorgeous view of stone spires set against stormy skies across the quad. Or the faint echo of soft conversation that meanders down the hall like a ghost. I don’t think it’s even the gravity of realizing my long-held dream to come here. A shiver runs through me, as if I’m seeing a portent, just before the ornately carved door in front of me swings open.

I forget my jet lag. I forget the water dripping from the hem of my only nice dress—bought by my father during his push a few years ago for us to start attending church. My book slips to the floor with a clatter that echoes obscenely. Was this what the feeling of doom was about?

Because I recognize the arrogant set of the shoulders exiting the interview room. I recognize the blond, windswept hair. I stared at it for years in homeroom—a place I firmly left behind in the States for this new life. I recognize the cold, glittering eyes of Kendall Saint James.

He stops abruptly, as taken aback as I am by our proximity a thousand miles from home.

His eye twitches.

My hands clench.

No.No.This isn’t happening. My nails bite into my palm. I’m leaving my old lifebehind. I’m inventing a new Helena here. Having Kendall Saint James around will fuck it up royally.

Kendall looks like he’s barely containing violence himself. What thehelldoes he have to be angry about? His petty high school habit of hating everyone and everything—except his girlfriend, Clara—will apparently extend into his college years. And fucking lucky for me, we seem to have chosen the exact same square of as-far-away-from-home-as-you-can-get on the globe.

“No. Absolutely not.”

It’s like he’s voiced my own thoughts, and I blink. I’m unsure if I spoke them out loud as well. I don’t even have time to call him on his bullshit, because he wheels back around and bargesbackinto the Dean’s office.

“What in the seventh hell is going on?” I whisper to no one as I lean down to pick up my book. My hands are shaking so hard I can’t seat the book back into my bag. My curated presentation of Helena Jude Eades, studious future Political Science student worthy of Oxford, slips with every second. It started with the rain this morning—it’s England, I should have planned for it and I’m hoping my hair is “pleasantly voluminous” and not “Hermione Granger”. But this. This undoes me on the inside. I can’t go in with what I know is an unhinged look on my face. No one will interview a girl with wild hair and murder in her eyes, especially not an American. Lacking things to do with my shaking hands, I run my hand over the silk scarf headband I’ve put on to keep my curls classy. Or out of my face and lip gloss, at the very least.

Fumbling through my bag, I pull out my phone, still straining to hear Kendall. Maybe he’s hiding. I can only hope his odd behavior earns him a failing mark on his interview. I text Jaqueline, my anger gaining strength with every second. My hands slowly steady.

Kendall Freaking Saint James is here.

Three dots bounce. Disappear. Bounce again.

Are you home then? At the airport? You didn’t ditch your interview, did you??

No! I’m at Oxford!

There isn’t a way for me to put enough emphasis on these words. For once, I almost wish I’d made the phone call.

Three dots bounce. Disappear. Bounce again. Disappear.

That is some bullshit.

The door knob in front of me rattles, and I shove the phone and book into my bag.

An older gentleman opens the door. “Ms. Eades, come in, please.”

I’m baffled, since Kendall is still in there. But I straighten my shoulders. I don’t have to be the same Helena I am at home. I have a chance here and now to pioneer my new self. The self I’ve been waiting to release. Calm, cool, collected, and ready to take the world by the balls.

I give a demure smile. “Thank you,” I say, as if it doesn’t matter to me that there’s a viper in this den.

I’ve never known, and will probably never know, justwhyKendall hates me so much. We’d been friendly in elementaryschool. And then boom. I kissed him once during a stupid middle school party game and that was it. He iced me out. Clara, his girlfriend, hates me too. I stopped caring three years ago, and ignored him right back. Pretended he didn’t exist. I never imagined testing it in an interview room at my dream college. InEngland.

The older man is the silver-fox type. Well dressed, impeccably groomed, luxury wrist watch glinting above his honest-to-God cufflinks. He’s handsome, but there’s an edginess about him.

“Please, have a seat,” he says, motioning to an overstuffed chair in front of the huge, heavy wooden desk. He takes the leather chair behind the desk.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Helena. May I call you Helena? You and Kendall have been friends since primary, correct?”

What thewhat?

---