Chapter 48: Spearcrest Saints: Part 4 – Chapter 48

let Zachary wrap his arms around me, to soften in the confines of his embrace. His touch is as warm and comforting as it’s always been, but it’s tainted somewhat, irreversibly damaged.

Damaged by all the fear and betrayal I’ve gone through, the shock of pain when I realised Zachary must have betrayed my secret, the memory of seeing my name at the bottom of that list.

Damaged, too, by my father’s shouts, his bruising grip on my arm as he threw me into the back of his limo and called me a string of filthy names. The word “whore” is indelibly carved into my bones, somewhere nobody but me will ever know about.

All this damage is still too fresh, the wounds still bleeding bright.

Maybe Zachary senses it; he releases me with a sigh and takes my face gently in his hands. “Come back to Spearcrest with me.”

I shake my head, pulling myself loose and sitting on the edge of the bed to create distance between us. “I can’t.”

“It’s not too late to catch up on what you’ve missed, and Mr Ambrose will understand, he—”

“No, you don’t understand, Zach. I can’t. My father paid for my education—he paid for everything. Even if I somehow got in touch with my mother, I suspect most of her finances are tied to his. I can’t go back to Spearcrest—I simply can’t afford to.”

He frowns and looks around the room. “How are you paying for this?”

“I took some cash with me when I ran away. It was enough to pay for my journey here, and it’s enough for the room. It’ll be enough to live on while I figure out what to do.” I give him a wry smile. “But certainly not enough to pay for Spearcrest tuition fees.”

“Mr Ambrose won’t care—I’m sure of it, he’ll—”

“Spearcrest Academy isn’t a charity, Zach. You’re not naive. Mr Ambrose might well wish to be generous, to let me back into Spearcrest, but he’s not free to do whatever he likes. He has governors to answer to.”

Zachary watches me, and then he sits down in the window seat with a sigh, leaning down to rest his elbows on his thighs.

He looks at me and speaks brusquely. “I know you won’t want me to say it, but— ”

“Then don’t say it,” I interrupt.

“I have to. We’re both thinking it anyway.”

“No, we’re not. I don’t want anything from you.”

“I’m not offering you anything. But my parents—my father didn’t go through the trouble of threatening legal and political action against your father out of pure altruism, Theodora. My parents like you—they seem to think you…” He meets my gaze and shakes his head as if he’s deciding to not finish his sentences. “My parents would help you in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t want their help either.”

“Then let me lend you the money, for god’s sake.”

“You’d never let me pay you back.”

He doesn’t deny this. He widens his eyes at me in frustration.

“You’re really going to give up, to let all your hard work go to waste—because of your pride?”

“My ?” I laugh out loud. “If you hope to provoke me into doing what you want, Zach, you’ll have to try harder than that.”

“You’re not the poor little matchstick girl dying in the cold, Theodora.” His voice is hard. “This isn’t a fairy tale, and you’re not the helpless, tragic victim. The help you need is being offered to you—if you refuse it, then you’re the one victimising yourself.”

“I never claimed to be a helpless, tragic victim,” I retort. “I’m not sitting out in the cold waiting to die. I’m going to get a job, apply as an external candidate to a local college, sit my exams—and go to university, just like I always wanted to do. You’re the only one who sees me as a victim in all this.”

He stands up suddenly, his hands curled into fists at his side.

“And what about the Apostles programme?”

“That’s the only thing you care about, isn’t it?” I say. “The Apostles programme and winning. That victory you’ve always coveted, that trophy you want to hold up so that everybody will know you’ve bested me.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’m not too proud to admit the truth.” The muscles in his jaw jump as he clenches his teeth. He straightens his clothes, fixing his shirt and tie the way he would always do when he stood up in debate club to present his closing arguments. “Don’t come back to Spearcrest for me, don’t come back because you want to, don’t come back for charity or because I love you. Come back as a business exchange—I give you something you need, you give me something I want.”

“What do you want?”

“I want my fucking victory. I’ve worked too hard and too long for it. You don’t want to take my money—then trade me. I’ll pay for your final term in Spearcrest, and in exchange, you come back, catch up with the assignments you’ve missed, and we see this through. And when I’m finally holding that figurative trophy you speak of, when I finally get to shout from the rooftops that I’ve bested you at last, then you’ll know the debt is paid, and you never need to do anything for me ever again.” He stands in front of me and sticks his hand out imperiously. “Do you accept?”

I look into his eyes, the blazing intensity there, the bleak, joyless conviction. Taking his hand in mine, I shake it in a formal motion.

“I accept.”

like returning to a place from a dream, except that this time, I’m awake.

Spring has finally arrived: the deciduous trees have all sprouted fresh new leaves and blankets of croci, bluebells and daffodils spread over the hills and fields of the campus. The turrets and spires pierce a sky blue as a robin’s egg, and the windows catch the sunlight like the facets of diamonds. It’s a beautiful sight, straight out of a fairy tale.

Except that it’s real, and it feels real.

I never realised, all these years, how much life felt like a waking dream. How I floated from class to class, never fully aware.

But I’m awake now, and everything strikes me anew. The beauty of the campus, the fragrance of grass and flowers and fresh earth in the air, the majesty of the halls and corridors and pillars of Spearcrest.

Even my friends, the girls I’d spent so much time with without ever letting them close, seem different in my new awakened state. I notice, for the first time, how happy Rose seems. She’s dating a boy from Fernwell, apparently, and there’s a new ease to her. Camille, whom I’d never seen as anything more than an outrageous flirt, spends most of her time studying. I never noticed before how hard she works. And Kayana, the carefree, glittering party girl, has an edge of sadness to her that was invisible to me until now.

Are all these things new, or am I only noticing them now that the veil of my misery has been lifted? It’s hard to tell, and in any case, there isn’t much time for introspection.

As soon as I’m settled back into my room, I’m summoned into a meeting with Mr Ambrose. I arrive to find all my teachers gathered in the room. The warmth with which they welcome me almost brings me to tears, but I manage to hold on to a semblance of dignity as they eagerly discuss how I’m going to get back on track.

My literature teacher explains that I need not worry too much about literature since my last mock exams all received full marks, and I’ve already learned most of the exam content. But I have fallen behind in my history and Russian classes, so the teachers come up with a timetable amongst themselves of extra sessions and one-on-one tutoring to get me caught up.

Once that’s sorted, Mr Ambrose gives me the two assignments I’ve missed for the Apostles programme. He doesn’t bother to ask me if I still wish to continue—and I’m glad for it. I had been bracing myself to plead with him to let me back in.

“One of these assignments has already been and gone, and the second is the assignment we’re currently on. There’s only you, Zachary and Sai left in the programme now—so work hard, Theodora.” Mr Ambrose’s face is one broad smile, beaming with kindness and pleasure. “You have some fierce competitors there, but you were the front-runner when you left. Time to reclaim your throne, my dear girl.”

I thank him before leaving, and just as I open his door, he says, “I could not be happier to have you back, Theodora.”

I pause in his doorway. “I could not be happier to be back, Mr Ambrose.”

“I know.”

return, my friends throw a little welcoming party in the girls’ common room.

It’s a far cry from the excess of Spearcrest parties or the debauchery of nights out in London. But it’s perfect for me, and I suspect that was part of the design.

There are some drinks and bite-sized snacks, which I cautiously sample, pushing back the instinctive wave of nausea. Camille tries to quiz me on what happened to me while I was away, but I remain vague with my answers, sticking to my story of being away for a family emergency.

“Never mind me and my boring family affairs,” I say, relaxing into one of the plush velvet couches in the common room. “I want to hear about Rose’s townie boyfriend.”

Rose’s face drops a little, and she exchanges a glance with Camille. At my side, Giselle stiffens but says nothing.

“He’s the loveliest man I’ve ever met,” Rose sighs in the tone of a lovelorn princess leaning at her window. “And he makes me feel so loved and safe.”

“And, apparently, he’s a beast in the sack,” Camille adds. “Better even than Mr Gold, by the sounds of it.”

“If we’re comparing men to vibrators, then the bar is getting too low,” Giselle points out.

There’s some invisible tension there, though I’m not sure why. Camille gives Giselle a smirk. “For the vibrators, you mean.”

We laugh, and I turn my attention back to Rose. “I think you did the smart thing, dating someone outside of Spearcrest.”

“Oh, right?” Rose says, sitting up enthusiastically and throwing her golden curls from her shoulder. “Spearcrest boys are so spoilt and immature. They have no idea what they want.”

“They just want whatever they can’t have,” Giselle points out. “That’s why they don’t want us. I can’t wait to go to university and finally date real men.”

Talk quickly turns to university, and soon, Rose has hijacked the conversation with a happy rant about going to fashion school in London and working on her first collection and launching her own couture line.

I listen happily enough to her pleasant patter, searching the room with my eyes.

Out of everyone who welcomed me back to Spearcrest, Inessa is the only person I’ve yet to talk to properly. I saw her briefly the first day I got back, but she just gave me a little shy wave before hastening away. At the time, I thought it was because I was surrounded by the most popular girls in Year 13, and I know she’s never liked them much.

But she’s not spoken to me since, and when I’ve tried to knock at her bedroom door, she’s always been out.

At first, I tell myself she’s probably busy studying for summer assessments. It’s not until the following week, when I spot her on her way to a lesson, that I finally realise what’s going on.

Our eyes meet across the sunlit corridor on the second floor of the Old Manor—I’m just coming out of my Russian class, she’s headed to hers. I wave a hand and smile. Her face falls when her eyes meet mine. She stops mid-step, turns, and then runs back the way she came from, leaving me standing, frozen in shock, in the middle of the corridor.

Inessa hasn’t been shy or busy.

She’s just been avoiding me.