Page 108 of Spearcrest Knight

“Right, shall we do some essay work today?”

Thank god Zachary is so business-like, because this strange interaction with Evan has completely turned my mind upside down, exposing the very raw, very insistent memories of our kisses and my orgasms and our arguments, and I desperately need the distraction.

“So,” I explain, “I annotated our exam questions with the suggestions from the mark schemes and examiners’ reports. I was thinking you could have a go at planning your responses and then comparing with the exam board suggestions?”

He nods curtly. “That sounds excellent. Let’s get to it.”

Once more, we settle into a mostly silent session. Zachary writes up his essay plans in meticulous, spidery handwriting while I read. After that, we do some timed essay practice, reducing our time every round to force ourselves to write faster. Near the end of the session, we swap our work to critique it, take notes, and then it’s time to go.

Zachary packs away with very little ceremony and then gets up.

“Thank you for today. That was very helpful.”

He sounds like he means it and I can’t help but feel proud. I nod. “You’re welcome.”

“Shall we do another Austen session next Tuesday and then switch to poetry on Thursday?” he asks.

“Yes, sounds good. I’ll prep some stuff over the weekend.”

“Alright. Have a good rest of the week.”

“You too.”

Zachary strides out exactly as he came in, with long, crisp steps. It’s funny how easy it is to forget he is a Young King; he couldn’t be more different to the rest of them. He works hard, cares about his grades, and doesn’t seem to be all that interested in popularity.

Of course, he could be coming across this way because it’s me he’s spending this time with, and it’s not exactly like I hold the key to popularity at Spearcrest.

But of course, this is me just overthinking things as usual. I have plenty of things to worry about without wasting my time thinking about the Young Kings, especially when the Young Kings are little more than a childish fantasy that’s going to fade into thin air the moment we leave Spearcrest.

And soon, there isn’t time to worry about anything much at all.

February sets in, brutally cold, depressingly dark. It snows pretty much non-stop, and with the second wave of mock exams rising high as it prepares to crash down upon us, we’re all feeling the mounting pressure. The library is always full, even when I end up staying there until late at night, and even the austere study hall is fuller than usual.

“You think this is hard, and it is,” our Maths teacher says one afternoon after hitting us with an impromptu pre-mock mock exam. “But half of you here are Oxbridge candidates, and I can guarantee you that no matter how stressed you are right now, it’s nothing compared to what you’ll go through next year.”

It’s a chilling reminder, and something that stays with me long after he says it, but it barely helps. I’m so tired I fall asleep every other night without even realising, fully clothed at my desk, and wake up in the morning with a gasp of shock thinking it’s still two in the morning. I barely look in the mirror anymore because I know I look like a zombie.

Luckily, almost everyone in our year looks half-undead too.

Almost everyone.

Ever since he dropped Zachary off that time, Evan has been keeping up the strange new routine. Lingering by the doorway to give me long, insistent looks, asking me how I am and bringing me cups of coffee.

It’s awkward, and maybe I’m going slightly mad from exhaustion, but after a while, it becomes almost endearing. Until I realise that he doesn’t have a hint of a shadow under his eyes, his skin is completely clear and smooth and instead of losing weight like half the students in our year group, he seems to be filling out with new muscles every time I see him.

On the Thursday of the week before the mock exams, Evan is standing in the doorway, as usual, eating an apple as shiny and healthy-looking as he is. I stare at him in baffled shock, not hearing a thing he’s saying.

“Do you even know we have mocks next week?” I burst out, more out of sheer bafflement than anger.

He blinks. “Yeah? I have five exams next week, starting Monday. You?”

“Five, too.” I narrow my eyes. “You’re not worried about your exams?”

He brushes his hand through his hair in that distracted, distracting way and gives a slightly embarrassed smile. “I’m mostly worried about Lit, for obvious reasons.” Then he checks his watch and sighs deeply. “Ugh, talking of which. I should probably go to my session.”

But he lingers in the doorway, his eyes fixed on mine. His blue eyes send the memory of his face between my legs like a war flashback through my mind.

“I wanted to say…” Evan’s voice is soft and low. “I wanted to say that I… that you…” he looks at Zachary, then at me. He gulps, shakes his head and then smiles. “I wanted to say good luck with the exams.”

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