Chapter 16: Spearcrest Knight: Part 1 – Chapter 16

to go before the exam, I’m sitting on the chessboard tiles of the assembly hall foyer floor. The gloomy daylight falls through the high stain glass windows above the door, turning the grey light blue and red.

I’m sitting in a patch of red light and reading through critical theories on Othello when my phone buzzes from the depths of my backpack.

Propping my notes on my lap, I reach for it with impatience. A text from an unknown number. I open it with a frown.

I text back immediately.

His reply pops up.

I hesitate, then text back.

I turn my phone off straight away. I’ve worked too hard to let Evan’s frivolity distract me from my revision. The Lit exam is my last exam of the term, so as long as I give it everything I have, then I’ll hopefully feel a little better over the holidays. Maybe I’ll even wake up without my chest being crushed under some enormous rock of urgency.

When the teachers finally open the doors and we get let into the hall, I make a beeline for my desk and sit down. I arrange my water bottle, pens and student ID in front of me, then I sit back. The answer booklet, with its pink pages, sits heavily on my desk, drawing my gaze. My stomach is churning, nausea whirling through me. I’m thankful I decided to only have a banana for my breakfast today.

Finally, the invigilators hand out the question papers and the times are written down on the chalkboard at the front of the room.

“You may start.”

The sound of everyone turning their papers open is like the rushing of wind through the assembly hall. After that, everything in the room might as well have disappeared as far as I’m concerned. There’s only my exam questions, my answer booklet and my pen.

By the time the invigilators call for us to put our pens down, three hours have passed, my hand is aching and my eyes are burning. We get asked to pass our papers to the invigilators; I do so without looking. The relief I was hoping to feel hasn’t sunk in yet. My chest is still crushed under an impossible weight.

Outside the hall, everyone is bumping into each other as they collect their bags and coats. I stand in the doorway, waiting for them to be done before I get my things.

I’m staring at the slowly dispersing crowd of students without quite seeing them when there’s a tap on my shoulder.

“Did you flunk the exam?”

I turn my head in surprise. Evan is standing next to me. For once, his uniform is in order: his shirt is buttoned up and his tie is done and straight. For some reason, the crisp azure and white of the Spearcrest uniform always makes him look a little older and a lot taller.

He’s standing right next to me, hands in his pockets, hair brushed back. The heat from his body somehow reaches through my clothes, brushing against my skin. His blue gaze is direct, a light smile on his lips. I take a step back, putting distance between us.

“No, of course I didn’t flunk the exam. Did you?”

“No, I don’t reckon I did. Why do you look so grumpy, then?”

“I’m not grumpy.”

He draws a little closer, tilting his head. “You’re not happy either.”

I’m thrown by that. For a moment, I don’t know what to say. In the end, I settle for part of the truth. “I’m just tired.”

Evan gazes at me, unspoken emotions lurking in the blue of his eyes. His fingers reach out to touch my cheek with startling tenderness, sending a wave of goosebumps through me.

“Sutton…”

Before he can say anything else, a hand falls on his shoulder. Evan’s fingers recoil from my cheek like it’s burned him.

“How did it go, Ev?”

Zachary Blackwood appears at Evan’s side and stops. “Oh, Sophie. Uh, hi. I hope your exam went well?”

Zachary is the total opposite of Evan. Where Evan is fair, Zachary is dark. Where Evan is broad and big with muscles, Zachary is lean and angular. Evan has a sort of easy-going, arrogant carelessness, Zachary is rigidly courteous and ruthlessly self-disciplined.

Where Evan seems to barely realise Spearcrest is an educational establishment, Zachary is the emblem of academic excellence. In the lower school, he was always in the top five of every class for achievements. This year, he’s even been selected as a Spearcrest Apostle—Mr Ambrose’s elite group of academically-gifted students.

Out of all the Young Kings, he’s the one I despise the least.

“It went fine, thank you,” I answer. “I’ll see you both around.”

I turn to go grab my backpack from the now almost empty foyer. Evan calls out from behind me. “Don’t you want to know how my exam went?”

Shouldering my backpack, I suppress the urge to sigh and roll my eyes. I pause, turn, and ask, “How did it go?”

“Pretty good, actually,” he answers with a level of confidence I could never hope to achieve. “I think you’ll be impressed come results day.”

Zachary’s eyes move from Evan to me, and I suddenly remember my goal to stay under the radar this year. I’ve already had more run-ins with the Young Kings than is wise.

So I bite back a sarcastic reply and instead go for a diplomatic comment and a quick escape. “Well done on your hard work, I guess. I have to go, see you later!”

I make my tactical retreat, all but running out the doors and into the icy winter sunlight. Still, even when I’m outside I can’t help the feeling that Evan and Zachary’s gazes are following me. I shake my head slightly.

It’s probably just paranoia.

has disappeared into the alleyway of trees leading to the rest of the campus, Zachary turns his head and lifts an eyebrow.

“Sophie Sutton,” he says. “I see.”

My cheeks are suddenly hot. I’m thankful for the cold breeze rushing in to cool them down.

“You see what, Zach?”

“Well, it’s always been Sophie, hasn’t it?”

Zach reaches down for my backpack and passes it to me. I take it absent-mindedly. “She’s just tutoring me in English for Miss Bailey’s mentoring programme.”

“Right,” Zach says as we slowly go down the steps of the assembly hall. “But I mean, it’s always been Sophie. Even when it was Giselle, or Freya, it was still Sophie.”

“

was still Sophie? Why are we talking in riddles? This is why I don’t like Lit students. They always read too much into shit.”

“You’ve liked Sophie since Year 9. No riddle there.”

“Right, so I had a tiny crush on Sophie in Year 9—so what? That was fucking stupid—that was nothing. Did I not make up for it? Did you not see me make her life hell all these years?”

Zach raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “So, you figured out Luca likes having the girls you like, and you did your best to keep her as far from reach as possible. If anything, that just proves my point.”

“What is this, Zach? This isn’t a court of law, man. There’s nothing to prove. I’m not on trial.”

“Alright,” Zach says, stopping in his tracks.

We stand in the middle of the path, facing each other. The day is bright and cold, and it’s clear Zach is about to say something particularly annoying.

“Alright,” he repeats. “Sophie is smart and pretty, so if I wanted to ask her out, that should be fine.”

“No,” I say immediately. “You better fucking not, Zach.”

“Right,” he says with a little shrug. “Because you like her.”

“I don’t like her. She’s a stuck-up, moody, uptight little kiss-ass. We barely get on. I don’t her, I…” I try to figure out a way of explaining how I feel about Sophie, why the thought of Sophie going on a date with any guy feels wrong. “I her.”

It really is the only explanation I can give. Because I can hardly explain to Zach I want to fight Sutton, play with her, test my strength against hers, defeat her in combat. That would sound crazy.

It crazy. Something that only makes sense between Sophie and me.

But Zach, as unmoved as usual, simply says, “Right. So then have her.”

“I can’t just her. She’s a human being, not a thing. And Sophie… ugh, she’s such a fucking pain in the ass. You can’t just Sophie. You have to, I dunno… you have to her. She’s like the princess in the tower: you have to fight and defeat the dragon first. Except that she’s also the fucking dragon. Does that make sense?”

“Inside your crazy little American skull, I’m sure it does,” Zachary says drily.

“Oh, fuck you. You sound just like her.”

“Is that so? Except that I don’t see you going around telling people you me.”

“I don’t go around telling people I want Sophie—are you nuts? I told . Only you, Zach, so keep that shit to yourself.”

“I won’t tell Luca you fancy Sophie, don’t worry.”

I grab Zach into a headlock. “You little shit! What are you talking about!”

“Let me go,” Zach says calmly.

He’s not fighting me back, so it’s not even like I can beat on him. Not that I would dare to beat on Zach—his parents would have my ass in court faster than I could unclench my fist. Instead, I do something I know for a fact will annoy him: I mess up his perfectly groomed hair.

“Evan!” Zach yells. “I swear to God! You’ll fucking pay for this!”

“Gentlemen!” a voice bellows, making us both jump apart. “This is a hallowed educational establishment—not a wrestling ring! I will thank you both for keeping your hands to yourselves.”

“Forgive me, Mr Ambrose,” Zachary says stiffly, slicking back his hair. “They are not taught manners in the colonies.”

“The ?” I exclaim, incensed. “Mr Ambrose, are you hearing this?”

“Alas, I can only wish that I wasn’t burdened with having to listen to any of your trite conversations,” Mr Ambrose says witheringly. “And I expected more from you, Mr Blackwood. Now both of you fix your uniforms and get out of my sight.”

We obey; Mr Ambrose isn’t someone to piss off at Spearcrest.

We’re still arguing on our way to the dining hall when we pass a small group of girls sitting on the stone benches by the tree. I don’t notice them until Zach stops in his tracks to look at them. I turn around and follow his gaze.

It’s Sophie and her friends, Audrey and Araminta—with whom I share a class. Araminta is sharing a muffin with Audrey on one bench and Sophie lies across the other bench, her head on Audrey’s lap.

My heart skips a beat. Seeing Sophie off her guard and relaxed is not a common sight. It barely even feels real, like seeing a wolf without fangs or a shark asleep.

It’s completely mesmerising.

She’s stretched out over her coat, one leg dangling off the bench. Gone is the stiff posture, the fucking clipboard, the carefully neutral expression. Her phone is lying face down on her stomach, and she’s eating an apple and talking up to Audrey with a smile on her face. A Year 9 smile, big and goofy. The kind of smile I’ve not seen on her face in years.

My heart clenches uncomfortably.

It’s the kind of smile I haven’t seen on her face since our short-lived friendship.

Zach veers off the path and towards the benches. I grab the sleeve of his blazer. “What the are you doing?”

He responds with a chilling smirk. “I told you I’d make you pay for fucking up my hair.”

“Zach, what—”

He completely ignores me and calls out to the girls, “Ladies! Post-exam party in the peace garden Friday night. Will you join us?”

The girls turn their heads, giving us a mix of reactions: surprise, delight, annoyance. Sophie props herself up on her elbows and calls back, “You know I’m meant to report this kind of stuff, right?”

“Right,” Zach calls back. “But if you come, I’ll make sure you’re too tipsy to fill in any paperwork. Are you in?”

The girls exchange looks. I make a mental note to kill Zach with my bare hands as soon as we’re alone.

“We’ll see!” Audrey calls back.

“Yeah, we’ll get back to you!” Araminta adds. “Thanks for the invite, Zach.”

“It’s my absolute pleasure,” Zach calls back.

We leave. I turn to cast a final look at Sophie, but she’s already lowered her head back onto Audrey’s lap, talking up to her. She doesn’t so much as glance my way, so I just turn around and follow Zach towards the dining hall. When I’m sure we’re out of earshot, I grab his arm.

“What the fuck was that all about?”

“Payback and a favour rolled into one.”

“How is that a favour?”

He smirks. “I don’t know, Evan, let me think. What do girls and boys do at parties?”

“Yes—obviously I know what girls and boys do at parties. But what if Sophie does what girls and boys do with at the party?”

Zach snorts. “Please. She hates everyone at Spearcrest.”

“True,” I admit, suddenly calmer. “You’re right.”

“Everyone, including ,” Zach adds mercilessly. “So make an effort, eh?”

“Right, right…”

His words stay with me for the rest of the day. By the time I get back to the dorms that evening, my mind is full of thoughts of Sophie at the party.

Sophie being chatted up by boys who are finally realising how attractive she is. Sophie being chatted up by Zach, who would probably do it just to wind me up. Sophie liking Zach, because he’s hard-working and intelligent and sarcastic, just like her.

Worst of all, Sophie being chatted up by Luca. Luca would do it just because he can, just because Sophie is mine and Luca always wants what doesn’t belong to him.

All of this is unbearable to think about, and I make a silent but deadly promise to myself that I’ll smash in the faces of anybody who goes near her.

But then my mind goes down an even more unbearable road.

Sitting with Sophie and chatting and having a drink with her. Dancing with Sophie under the canopy of the trees, stumbling drunkenly in the frosty grass. Pinning her against a tree trunk, kissing her mouth, her neck, her throat. Holding her up against me, her thighs wrapped around my hips. Her rough voice rasping a low moan against my ear while I push my cock slowly inside her. Making her wait, making her tremble and beg.

I roll around on my bed, burying my face into my pillow. I’m hard just thinking about it—really fucking hard—but I have to resist the urge to slip my hand into my boxers. Not just because my roommate could come back into the room at any time, but mostly because I don’t think I could face Sophie tomorrow after having jacked off thinking about her… again.

I end up falling asleep still half-hard, and spend the entire night dreaming of nothing but Sophie.

Turns out facing Sophie after jacking off to thoughts of her is not something I should have worried about. Thursday afternoon comes, and Sophie is nowhere to be seen. I text her even though I know she probably doesn’t like it when I do.

She texts back a few minutes later.

I sigh in disappointment, then see that she’s typing again.

From Sophie, this is inexplicably cute. I sit down at the kitchen counter and hesitate before texting back.

I wait for her response, tapping my fingers in impatience. She responds three minutes later.

I sit up, lifting my phone up to my face. I text back quickly.

This is the problem with Sophie. That wicked streak in her, those vicious claws she has a way of digging into my skin.

She types something, stops. Types something, then stops. I’m wondering if I’m finally getting through to her, if she’s going to give in. Her reply finally pops up.

I lock my phone and shove it away from me. I’m not quite sure whether I emerged from this exchange victorious. Let’s be honest, a from Sophie is as good as a no. I should have known she’d be too uptight and rule-obsessed to party. Sophie doesn’t how to have fun.

But I could show her. If only she wasn’t such a coward.

Now I’ve got nothing but disappointment and the pent-up tension leftover from texting Sophie. I glance at my phone. If she doesn’t come to this party then I’m not going to get to see her until… when? Next term?

Not if I can fucking help it. I pick up my phone again and text Sophie.

She doesn’t reply in so long I almost forget I sent her the text. By the time she responds, I’ve gone for a short run and a workout, I’ve taken shower and made myself an omelette. My phone buzzes and I pause before I unlock it.

When I see her message, I let out a shout of triumph and punch the air.