Page 23 of Spearcrest Knight

After that, it was like I had blurry eyesight and was now wearing glasses. Everything came into focus. Our friendship was very different from my friendship with Zach, with the other boys in the circle, Luca, Iakov and Sev.

And it was different from my friendship with girls, too. Every girl at school appeared to me in the form of a potential girlfriend.

But not Sophie.

Our friendship existed in a sort of in-between state. I didn’t view her the way I viewed my friends, but I didn’t view her the way I viewed girls, either. Our friendship filled the gaps, then grew.

We would sit together in English at first, then in our other classes too. At the time, Sophie had just arrived, and she had been placed in all middle sets. I knew she would soon outgrow me and end up in all the top sets where the Spearcrest geniuses, like Zachary and Theodora, ended up.

But in the meantime, I wanted to enjoy sitting with her, listening to her explain things to me. We’d walk together from one lesson to the next, even when we didn’t share lessons or classrooms.

Bit by bit, we started hanging out outside of lessons. Sometimes, I’d spot her alone in the quad and I’d go sit with her. After school, if I didn’t have rugby practice, I’d sometimes trail her to chess club and watch her while she played. Looking at her serious eyes, her frown, her spotty face, all still like undisturbed water, no expression rippling the surface.

Then, everything changed.

It was a late October afternoon. Sophie was doing homework in the study and I was sitting at her side, pretty much copying her answers. After we finished, she sat back and gave me a disapproving look that belonged more on the face of a sixty-year-old librarian than a fourteen-year-old girl.

“You can’t keep doing this. At some point, you’re going to need to start studying.”

“If you help me with my homework this year, then I’ll work so hard for my GCSEs I’ll be in all top sets with Zachary.”

She gave a little laugh—a Sophie laugh. Dry and low and with a mocking edge to it. “Hah, is that a promise?”

And then I extended my hand to her. “It’s a promise.”

And then she put her hand in mine and we shook.

It was my first time touching Sophie, skin on skin.

The warmth of her seeped from her skin into mine, and shot right into my veins. In that moment, something strange and irreversible happened. Everything seemed to dull and darken and soften around us, until there was nothing else but Sophie in the dim lights of the desk lamps.

Sophie, and her dark eyes, and thick eyelashes, and the dark curtains of her hair parting around her face. Sophie’s acne-ridden cheeks and the way the corners of her lips lifted in a slight smirk.

Sophie’s hand in mine, and the warmth of her skin against mine.

And that was the first time I touched Sophie. When I did, her presence burst into flames in my life. She has been a burning beacon ever since, drawing me to her like a moth to a flame.

But I have no intention of being the one to burn.

Secret Boyfriend

Sophie

Overthenextfewweeks, the café becomes the most comforting part of my day. At first, it’s stressful learning the pricing of things, how to make coffee, working the till. But Jess is so relaxed, and Freddy, who’s technically speaking our supervisor, is so sweet my nerves soon fade away.

The more time I spend on the job, the better I get at it. On my sixth shift, Jess even leaves to go to the library to work on some assignments, and I work most of the shift alone.

Freddy is never gone, though. He tends to be in the office managing the place or baking the treats we sell in the shiny window displays. Still, I’m never lonely, and Freddy even encourages me to bring a book with me so I don’t get bored.

Compared to the slowly mounting pressure at school, the café is a much-needed sanctuary.

As for Evan, since entering into this alliance, he’s been a lot more bearable. Of course, it helps that I never have to see him at school and that he’s clearly trying to stay on my nice side for the sake of his assignments.

He keeps asking me where I’m going every Tuesday and Thursday, but since there isn’t much he can do to force me to answer, I just ignore his questions. I can tell he still says things to try and get a rise out of me, but it’s getting easier and easier to brush him away.

Maybe part of it is due to spending time with Freddy and getting to know him more.

Freddy’s parents own the café , and Freddy handles it while they are busy running another café they own in London. His actual dream is to be an artist, so in his spare time he paints and sketches. A few of his paintings—moody landscapes and soulful animal portraits—hang in the café. His brushstrokes are exactly like him: gentle and expressive.

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