Page 113 of Spearcrest Knight

“Obviously I don’t. I never do, with Sophie.”

“You could start with the obvious. You know: be nice? Be polite? Don’t say or do anything rude or mean?”

“Obviously.”

“If it was that obvious then you wouldn’t have made her lose her job then humiliated her in front of everyone she hates.”

I choke on the sip of beer I’m halfway through swallowing. “Zach!”

He shrugs without so much as a hint of contrition. “I’m not lying, am I?”

“No, you’re not, but fuck me, man, you’re not exactly filling me with confidence either.”

“I’ll tell you who doesn’t need confidence,” Zachary says, glancing around the pillar. “Percival Bainbridge.”

“What do you mean?”

I poke my head around the pillar to follow Zachary’s gaze.

He’s right. Percival Bainbridge doesn’t need confidence. He’s walked right up to Araminta and Sophie and handed them drinks in blue plastic cups. To my surprise, Sophie takes her cup with a smile. All three of them tap their cups together before drinking.

Percy isn’t someone I know well, but he’s a decent enough guy. His family are landed gentry in the UK, not filthy rich but not poor by any means. Although Percy isn’t the most handsome guy in the year group by far, he makes up for his plain looks with a great track record and some impressive sporting achievements under his belt.

He’s the kind of guy who would never harm a fly, but right now he might be a serial baby killer for all I hate him. I watch him, speechless with a mixture of shock and envy, as he talks to Sophie and Araminta with seemingly complete ease.

He says something to Sophie and winks at her, and she laughs. Not a smirk, not a mocking snigger. Actual laughter.

Percy and Sophie are about the same height, and with her dark hair and his short crop of light blond hair, they look like a picture-perfect social media couple.

I glare at Zachary. “How on earth does Percy know Sophie?”

“They’re both prefects. Looks like you missed your chance.”

More prefects are walking up to Sophie and Araminta and Percy, and the group of them stand there, chatting and drinking.

“Come on,” Zachary says, grabbing my arm. “You can try speaking to her later.”

He drags me away and we end up joining Iakov and Séverin and some guys from the rugby team. Iakov is drinking straight vodka, which means he’s looking to get obliterated. Sev is doing a one-person roast of the outfit Anaïs, his fiancée has chosen to wear at this party, which gives him an excuse to keep staring at her.

We play some drinking games. As I drink, the alcohol makes me both more relaxed and less able to resist the urge to go back to Sophie. I’m stumbling tipsily on my way to get some more drinks when I spot her again. This time, she’s standing with Audrey, dancing while they sing along to the song. Audrey’s arm is around Sophie’s waist, and Sophie’s arm is around Audrey’s neck. They are dancing cheek-to-cheek, clearly both as tipsy as I feel.

My steps slow to a stop.

The easy intimacy between Sophie and her friends, the shameless affection they openly display, is hypnotic. Araminta dances through the crowd, wraps herself around Audrey and Sophie. They dance together and laugh. Araminta raises her phone for a selfie, her and Audrey sandwiching Sophie’s face with kisses as they pose.

They laugh and break apart as the song ends, then they stand to talk. Audrey plays with the silky length of Sophie’s ponytail as Araminta shows everyone the pictures she’s just taken.

The whole scene, in the pink and purple lights, is surreal, like a waking dream. A terrible sadness falls on me like a weight.

I could have been this close to Sophie.

I could have been dancing with her, holding her by her waist, posing for photos with my cheek against her cheek, lacing my fingers through hers. I could have been receiving her smiles, making her laugh. Her friendship, her affection, her love, is a treasure I once held and tossed carelessly away.

For a social pariah, Sophie never seems to lack company. I can’t find a moment to catch her alone. Then I get distracted trying to break up a spat between Theodora and Zachary, who are going for each other’s throats like a wealthy couple in a bitter and vicious divorce.

I walk Zachary to an open window so he can catch some fresh air. I’m on my way to go find some water for him when I’m intercepted by Luca.

The last time I saw him was that night in London, but the less time I spend with him the more I realise how much happier I am away from him. He’s wearing tailored black pants and a crisp white shirt, his outrageous Rolex shining on his wrist. His bone-pale hair is slicked back, making him look like some storybook villain.

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